The Royal Phantasm
by Deathcrest
Summary: Europe, 1871. Riza had thought that madness had finally ended it's conquest of her, until the truth of her identity puts her, and those she loves, in the path of danger. Yet, what awaits her will test her heart, mind and trust in everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist, nor any of its characters. And this disclaimer will act as disclaimer for the whole story, as I will not be writing it on other chapters.**

_Author's Note: So, this is "The Royal Phantasm". The story, from hereon, is darker, deeper and sublimely more horrifying. This story will contain very matrue content, some are of gore, others of graphic content. I'd also like to thank those who have liked the prequel, "Child of the Dark Morn" and I do hope that said people will also like "The Royal Phantasm". All I can say about this story is more. The "Child of the Dark Morn" was just a sort of test experiment because I was still unsure whether I should continue with it. But the thoughtful reviews of my readers made me continue with the story and I really, very and seriously hope that my readers will enjoy this next chapter in Roy and Riza's lives. Some of my readers had asked me many things and I dearly wish to tell them the answers but I fear to because I will be spoiling my story. So, you'll have to put with me. Now, let us enter the realm of darkness, as the morn fell to the might of the night, so shall humanity fall to chaos._

_Welcome to the Royal Phantasm. On Y Va!_

_Sincerely Yours,_  
_Deathcrest_

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Chapter 1: The Lullaby

The silence was a hideous monster that invaded the security and sanctity of Catherine's home. The quiet stillness that seemed to freeze time was horrid for a four-year old girl like her. Throughout her life, Catherine had been surrounded by festivity, celebration, revelry and laughter. Even when Mother tucks her in bed, there would always be the soft melody of her music box to lull her to slumber. When she awoke, the bustle of the maids below and the cackle of the birds greeted her with raucous enthusiasm. Yet, as of this dark moment, Catherine heard nothing. Not even the faint scurrying of the disgusting rats, or the terrifying call of the owls. The hush scared her.

Catherine hugged Gloria, her doll, closer. She tried to stifle the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes and soak the cloth that covered them. Mother had said to wear it and not take it off or she would be very sad and cry. Catherine didn't want Mother to cry. So she wore the blindfold and sat quietly.

The whole house made not one sound.

She laid her cheek against Gloria's. She was so scared and she couldn't even see! She thought of Mother and that brought a smile to her face. Thinking of Mother always calmed her and made her happy. Mother was very good and Father was even better. Father always bought toys for her and made her laugh and would play with her when he came home. He also loved Mother very much and that made Catherine happy. Thinking about them, Catherine began to sing a song that Mother taught her when she was scared, so that she would not cry.

_Hush, little flower, oh sweet little flower..._

A thud reached Catherine's ears and she stopped singing. It sounded like someone was coming up the stairs! Then there was another thud. Catherine smiled. _It's Mother!_

So, Catherine continued to sing, this time louder.

_Cry not for the sun shall return..._

The sound of the footsteps came closer, and it began to sound louder. Catherine sang the next line, hoping that Mother would hear her and remove the blindfold.

_Smile, little flower, oh sweet little flower..._

Catherine heard the footsteps stop. There was the deafening silence again.

_Cry not for the sun shall return..._

She heard the sound of a door opening, its hinges creaking. She smiled to Mother. She was happy that Mother found her. "Hello, Mother!" She exclaimed joyfully.

Catherine heard Mother come closer, the sound of the floorboard creaking beneath her weight. When Mother stop in front of her, Catherine said, "Take of the blindfold, Mother. I want to see you."

Hands combed through her hair and Catherine felt Mother's fingers untying the knot of the cloth behind her head. She felt the cloth fall from her cheeks softly, like it was made of air. She giggled as it tickled her neck. Catherine opened her eyes.

She couldn't see Mother properly because it was very dark in the room. She could only see her white dress. Catherine stood and hugged Mother.

"I missed you, Mother." Mother returned her embrace, but Catherine was saddened that Mother did not speak. She looked up, her chin against the velvet white cloth of her bodice.

Mother's face was clouded by the dark, and Catherine couldn't tell if she was happy or sad. "Mother, let's find Father."

Mother stood and held out her hand. Catherine smiled and took it, her other hand clutching Gloria to herself.

They went out of the room and came down the stairs, Catherine holding on to Mother's hand tightly. She was scared that the house was very dark. There was no lights, and the maids weren't around. When they reached the living room, Catherine let go of Mother's hand to sit on the couch, whose back was turned to them. Mother stayed in her place, not moving an inch.

Slowly, Catherine made her way to the couch, the feeling of fear intensifying as she came closer. When she stepped in front of the coach, her voice was stuck in her throat and she was unable to scream.

Mother was lying on the coach, her eyes staring at her and something red was dripping by her neck. Catherine took a step backward and tripped on something. She turned her head and gasped. Father was on the floor, the same red water was all over his favorite white shirt.

"Mother! Father!" Were they sleeping? Why won't they wake up?! "Wake up! Wake up!"

Her parents did not respond. Catherine began to cry, not understanding why her parents won't wake up and cuddle her. She felt the tears trail down her cheeks.

_Hush, little flower..._

A feminine voice sang and made Catherine look up. There was the woman who she thought was Mother standing behind the couch. Suddenly, Catherine felt her heart beat faster and she couldn't hold back the cry she gave out

The woman moved from behind the couch and came towards her. She extended a hand to Catherine, her other behind her back. Catherine looked at the woman and, for the first time, saw her face, though only the eyes. They were the color of violet.

Take it, they seem to beckon.

Catherine hushed her cries and took the woman's hands. She was very nice when she was so scared upstairs. She would go with her and find out what's wrong with Mother and Father. She came closer to the woman.

"Thank you, lady."

Catherine saw the woman smile, and she felt cold fear grip her insides. Then the woman brought out her other hand, and saw what it was holding. Catherine couldn't take her eyes off it. She was glued to the shining object that reflected her face. In the reflection, Catherine could see her green eyes and brown hair. She also saw the tears spilling. And the fear.

She finally realized what it was.

Catherine screamed. She jerked herself away, screaming, but the hand that was gripping hers was too strong. She screamed and screamed.

Yet the knife was still coming.

_oh little flower..._

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_Author's Note: So, how do you like the first chapter of "The Royal Phantasm"? I told you it was going to be darker! Anyway, thanks for dropping by and a review always keep the doctor away!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: God, I am really sorry for this last update. I was kinda busy because I had a story in FictionPress (dot) com, it's called "The Love Monster" and I was busy updating it. So, I'm really really sorry. Hope that this chapter can make up for it. Oh, and do note that there will be some changes in Italian history. I will imbue this story with my own fictional events and characters and the such with historical ones. So, if you feel offended by the idea of altered history, I suggest you not read this story and choose something else._

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Chapter 2: Pro Subter Supter Stelliger Saeli , Habitum Specialis of Rose

Jean Havoc gazed at the Italian capital from the deck of the _Pyotr Velikiy_, keeping a wary eye on the Italian guards that were patrolling the port. He watched his own men guarding the ship from strategic positions; some of them on the starboard, others on the top and a few standing guard on the port. Though his men were here, and Jean Havoc would never doubt their abilities, he still felt uneasy being in foreign land, hundreds of leagues away from his motherland, from where he felt very confident. Jean knew why he was here, though. It was of the utmost importance.

The Rose had finally revealed itself, and now it is here, in Rome.

The mission of finding the Rose and escorting it back to Russia was of the greatest significance that His majesty had personally went off to search for it himself. It was quite alarming, to say the least. Who would have expected the Czar of Russia to flee the ship in the night, without an entourage and leaving a note on his bed chambers as to where he was going and what instructions he wanted done.

So, Jean was here, guarding the boat and trying his best to not shout commands at his men to storm the city and find His Majesty. If the head of the Palace Guard ever found out that Jean let the Czar out of his sight, he'd be dead the moment he steps into Russia. But still, Jean kept his courage and faith that the Czar would somehow return with the Rose.

The Rose had been a mysterious legend. Rumors say that it once resided in Russia, but it escaped the country as power struggles began and people started to search for it. Some even say that it was only accompanied by a lone woman, who, along with the Rose, fled to Spain. There, the Rose stayed for a period years before it again moved to Italy. The rumors finally stopped, concluding that the Rose was in a place among diamond rocks and golden towers. Jean had never understood what that meant, but somehow, he felt that it was under his nose the whole time.

Still, he watched the glistening light of sun down cover the capital in an fiery orange glow.

Dear God, he prayed that His Majesty would be alright.

* * *

Jean was about to retire for the night, after a sumptuous meal from the cook when a knock on his cabin made him sit up and walk to the door. When he pulled it open, he gazed into the countenance of Alexander Nikolaevich, the Czar of Russia. Automatically, Jean stood straighter and saluted. The Emperor saluted back and Jean opened the door all the way. He was quite thankful that he had cleaned his room before going to bed. It was already embarrassing enough for the Czar to see him in his bedclothes, much more if his room was a mess.

"Your Majesty, you're back?" The lieutenant asked, still shocked by the appearance of the monarch who had vanished for a whole week. The Czar sat on one of the stools and faced Jean.

"Yes, I'm back. And I need your help."

Jean was confused, what did the Emperor want with him? Surely, it couldn't be anything personal since he and the Czar had never spoken in those terms. Was it something related to the military, or, God forbid, the Rose? It seems that his fear was justified.

"I have found it."

It felt like the ground beneath Jean's feet had been ripped open and he was being consumed by darkness. So great was the tension, the anxiety, the fear that Jean was stunned, to say the least. Even the Emperor seemed to be dazed by what he had said. Still, the man continued, ignoring Jean's shock.

"I had to be sure, though. Alas, the time I have spent observing it had validated my theory. The Rose is here, in Rome."

Jean, still amazed, spoke to the Czar with a breathless voice. "Your Majesty, what will we do? Should we escort the Rose back to Russia?"

The Czar closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were swimming in a tender expression. "Yes, we will. But, we'll do it delicately. The Rose is like a fragile butterfly, our intentions, if it may perceive them as hostile, will scare it away."

Jean smiled, warmed by the loving way the man spoke. It was clear how much the Rose meant to him. It had been an enigma within the Romanov family that sustained through the years. And now, knowing it was so close, made Jean's heart quiver in anticipation. This time, they would ensure the safety of the Rose's return to its motherland. Even if it meant death on his and his men's part. Jean would give his life for it.

Suddenly, the hard edge returned to the Czar's eyes. "But we must also do it quickly. Our enemies are also within these lands. The Imperium has discovered the Rose's whereabouts, as well. Just this morning, I saw members of the Imperium patrolling the area. If we are to return to Russia with the Rose, we need to escape soon. There is no telling what those beasts have in store for us."

The mantle of duty draped itself upon Jean, who has lost his smile and was replaced by a dark frown. The main complication that prevented them from returning to Russia with the Rose had finally appeared. He knew that there was going to be bloodshed. Something like that was inevitable when the Imperium was involved. Somehow, they had to get the Rose out of Italy and sail back to Russia. And even if they managed to flee the southern land, who's to say that the Imperium will not be after them? Members could come after them through land and sea. They might even have a plan to destroy the Rose once it reached Russia. Even his motherland had traitors, and the thought alone made him nauseous.

Still, they will persevere. "We will do everything possible, to ensure the safety of the Rose, Your Majesty."

The Czar looked at him straight in the eye, and Jean, for once in his life, realized that the Emperor's eyes were so piercing it seemed that they could see into the soul. And as if finding what he wanted, the Czar smiled. "Thank you, lieutenant. You may rest now, I'll see my way out."

"There is no problem, sir. I'll see you out." And the man sent him another grateful smile as Jean closed the door, and stared into the gray paint of the walls

It was here, the Rose. And now, the battle finally begins.

Jean blew the lamps out, and stood quietly as the room plunged into darkness.

* * *

Elizabeth read the papers as she and Alexander took a spot of tea in a cafe, not far from the park where they usual come and talk. Alexander was in one of his moods, one that appeared to be impassive, but was actually thoughtful and contemplative. Elizabeth had gone to one of these rounds and knew that there was nothing that was able to distract Alexander from his thinking. So, Elizabeth busied herself by reading of recent happenings. She was halfway through a statement that bored her when something caught her eye.

_'DUKE DE MUSTANG TAKES PLACE OF DECEASED PRINCE.'_

Interested, Elizabeth turned the next page to where the statement was written in full text. A photograph of a young man, with jet black hair and onyx eyes that could pierce her soul stared back at her. How long had she last seen his face? How long had she last felt his touch, his kiss, his caresses? The desire that sparked within her burned her entire mind. Elizabeth suddenly longed for Roy. She stroked her fingers lovingly upon his photograph, smiling wistfully at the handsome face that once held so much for her.

Dear God, how she missed him.

Removing her eyes from his face, she read the statement below.

_'On the night of the twenty-first of February, the Prince of Milan and his immediate family were assassinated. Police had found the bodies of the Prince and the Princess, along with the four-year old Duchess Catherine's. The manor had been found robbed of precious wealth and treasure and the bodies were left to be found in the sitting room. The death of the Prince had also weighed heavily upon His Majesty, the King. With the armies of Italy on the brink of loss of leadership, the King had found it fit to install the Duke of Florence, Roy de Mustang, as Prince of Milan.'_

Elizabeth did not have the time to cover her shock when Alexander suddenly stood.

"Elizabeth, I would like you to meet someone."

She placed the papers on the table and stood, as well. She saw a figure approaching them from a distance. But, when it came closer, she glimpsed, from beneath the black hat, blond hair and alert blue eyes. He was quite tall and muscled, obvious from the way his coat seemed ripple. He had the gait of a very cautious man who had seen blood and death too many times. Suddenly, Elizabeth had the gut-wrenching feeling that something was about to unfold.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm so evil. So evil to even leave a cliffhanger. Anyway, I hope you liked it and I'd really like to hear what you can say about this chapter. AND don't worry, though. There will be more RoyXRiza things to come, but that would mix in with the action. So, goodbye._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: Well, let's just say that I had some kind of writer's block for a whole week. So, here's chapter 3!_

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Chapter 3: Luxus

Roy clothed himself with the black garments the servants had brought, focusing on completing the task at hand than be distracted by the Countess' voluptuous caresses. He could feel her fingers tracing a line on his back, barely touching it. It felt like silk against his skin, presently there but sensually almost nonexistent. Roy felt the impeding arousal coming, but his mind commanded to cease all thoughts of pleasure. Business was first.

Once he had buttoned his silk shirt and velvet black coat, Roy turned to face the Countess. For a moment, he was inclined to stay and ravish the woman before him. With her tresses of raven black that tumbled down her bare body in graceful waves, her porcelain skin gleaming in the sunlight, deep violet eyes swimming with seduction, Roy felt lust swell inside him. The Countess came closer, her delicate fingers gripping the lapels of his coat, her need burning in her eyes. She draped her body against his, her womanhood pressed against his manhood. With that single action, Roy's mind turned into empty oblivion as primal desire took him. He gripped her waist, and attacked her lips with his own. The Countess reciprocated, her own need spurring her into the kiss. Roy's hands roamed every inch of her, his mouth taking her in with ravenous and agonizing desire. He swept her off her feet, carrying her back to his bed. He threw her on the silky bloodred sheets, his body on top of hers. He ravaged her with the ferocity of an aroused beast, not even caring if he hurt her in any way. She was asking it, after all.

The image of a woman, with long blonde hair and piercing brown eyes crossed his mind. He broke of the kiss, and frowned.

"What is it? Why have you stopped so suddenly?" The Countess asked, her French-accented voice thickened with longing. She tried to bring him back for another kiss but Roy took her hands off his lapels and withdrew from the bed.

"Forgive me, Maria, but His Majesty needs me today in court. I have to leave." Roy answered, frowning. It had been months since he had last seen Riza, last seen her before she was asked to leave the city. Roy wanted no other thing but to keep her there, with him. But, he heeded his father's words and asked his mother to send Riza away. Roy couldn't do it himself, it would kill him. But he had no choice, his father's word was law. But Roy was now Prince of Milan, a position far greater than his father. He could have everything he wanted, so rid himself with the image of Riza. He was sure that she had been taken by now, the thought depleting his guilt at what he had been forced to do months ago.

Maria sighed, her eyes on the carpeted floor. "I understand, Your Highness." Roy looked at her for a while, thinking.

"Why don't you ride with me to His Majesty's palace? I have not the pleasure of showing you the grandeur of the capital, yet." said Roy, smiling at the delight on the Countess' face. Maria stood from the bed and donned her forest green robe, laced in gold and gave a tempting grin at Roy. "Thank you, Your Highness. I will excuse myself for I need to start on my toilet. Unless...you wish to accompany me, my Prince?"

Roy chuckled, and gave Maria a long kiss. "I shall wait for you down at the parlor, my lady."

He turned and left his bedroom and called for a valet. He had not taken care of fixing his clothes and needed the help of his personal valet to clothe him. After he had done and was now fully dressed, he went down to the parlor. He passed marble walls, with dark green veins, alongside gold gilt on the pillars. Paintings decorated the bareness of the walls, and several sorts of furniture such as chairs and small coffee tables stood against corners and by doors. Once he had located the parlor, Roy took a seat on the velvet sofa and waited for the Countess, turning away or dismissing some of the maids as they stopped to offer their services.

Glancing at the large clock that hung from one of the pillars, Roy noted that a few minutes had passed. As if on cue, the Countess swept into the room, the aura of aristocracy around her like an invisible veil. All of the occupants of the room, including Roy, turned to look at her. She had that power over men and women. Roy took in the black dress that she wore, noting the low cut and the tight bodice, obvious by the way the strings were tightly tied. The black velvet rippled in waves as it swam on the carpeted floor, the light reflecting on every ruffle the skirt had. Onyx elbow-length gloves covered her arms, a large ruby ring inserted to one of her fingers. A servant stood behind her, holding the Countess' fur coat.

Roy stood from the sofa and smiled at the Countess. "Shall we depart then, my lady?"

* * *

The man came to a halt before them. He made gave a nod to Alexander, which he responded, and faced Elizabeth. She stared at his young handsome face, at his deep azure eyes and the strands of blond hair that was not concealed by his black hat. A small smile tugged at his lips, unconsciously making Elizabeth smile a little at him. She didn't know who this man was, but Alexander seemed to know him well. If there was one thing that she was certain, it was that Alexander behaved differently to those who he knows well. There was a time when she and Alexander were down at the park, and a woman had stopped to ask him about the expensive-looking fur coat he wore. He answered her in a polite, but indifferent tone. But, to Elizabeth, he would often answer either by teasing her, or humoring her.

"Good morning, my lady. I am Jean Havoc, my lady, and a friend of Sir Alexander." The man said. Elizabeth noted that his accent was deep, and he said every syllable in a way that resembled Alexander's. She knew then that he and Alexander were born at the same place. Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered that she had not asked as to where Alexander was from. Seeing from the way he talks, she was sure that he was foreign to Italy. Hoping to ask that later, Elizabeth smiled at the man, employing the grace and elegance she was endowed by her training at the Palazzo Della Quattro Santa.

"How delightful to meet your acquaintance, Sir Havoc, and it is, indeed, a pleasant morning." The man's cheeks tinted to a reddish hue, and he bowed his head, his hand scratching the back of it.

"Call me Jean, my lady."

"Of course, and please call me Elizabeth."

Alexander gave a booming laugh; he always had a very deep voice. "Elizabeth, Jean is quite new to the city. I was dearly hoping, young one, that you can give him a tour of Rome. I pray it is not trouble to you." His dark brown eyes gazed at her with delight and affection, and Elizabeth knew that she could not deny the elderly man anything. She smiled at him, and nodded her head. "That is of no problem, _sir_ Alexander." She teased.

"Please do not say that, it makes me feel quite ancient!" Alexander gave another laugh, eliciting a few chuckles from the two. However, when he was through, he lost all humor on his face and gazed at Jean with a serious expression. "Jean, if you dare, in any manner, hurt her, I will have the Italian guards whip you to an inch of your life and drown you in the Adriatic Sea. Is that clear?"

Elizabeth was surprised by the bite that she heard in his tone, but when she looked at Jean, she was more surprised to find him smiling. "Yes, Alexander. I will even carry her if Lady Elizabeth's feet begins to pain."

At this, Alexander's face returned to its usual smiling countenance and Elizabeth's face turning a shade of pink. To rid herself of this embarrassment, Elizabeth voiced out.

"Well then, shall we go now, Jean? I am sure Alexander will not miss us."

Jean agreed with her. "Ah, yes. Let us be off now, for Alexander is itching to rid himself of us lot."

"Very funny, Jean. Anyway, shall we meet again at this cafe by three?" Alexander inquired, receiving a nod from the two. "Well then, you may now explore the city."

Elizabeth beckoned for Jean to walk by her side as they started down the street, with Elizbeth explaining the name of the street they were in. She included the major landmarks that dotted the city throughout. At every turn, Jean would stop and stare at something, and he would then ask Elizabeth what it was and she would answer. In between the tour, she would talk about normal everyday things.

"So, Jean, I have noticed that Alexander and you have the same accent. Will you mind telling me where the both of you come from, seeing that you have the same intonation?" She asked, peering at his handsome face.

"Alexander and I are actually from Russia, Elizabeth. We were both born and raised there." He answered.

"Russia? But, that is so far away! How did you get here?" Elizabeth inquired, her curiousity taking over. She had never met a person from a land so far away. Knowing that Alexander and Jean were both from a country on the other side of the world made Elizabeth's thought wonder as to what lies in foreign lands.

"By sea." He replied, smiling down at her. His smile only served to intensify his already handsome face.

"The Adriatic Sea?"

"Yes, we traveled by land from Russia, and to Austria. We then sailed from Venice and down to Sicily, and upwards to Rome. We also passed by the Tyrrhenian Sea."

Elizabeth pondered this, vividly imagining the sights of exploration that Jean had underwent. She tried with all her might to imagine the lands, the people that he had met, the animals he had seen and found that she could not, for she had never been outside Rome before.

"I've never been to the sea. I bet it's beautiful." She said, realizing that all she had seen were trees and rivers. She had never glimpsed an inch of the breathtaking expanse of water that so many seem to find exhilarating. Elizabeth had the sudden thought that she had not lived her life the way it was supposed to be lived. Free and happy. Over the past few months, all she had felt were nostalgia and longing for the past. Elizabeth made a promise to change the way she was living, now and forever.

"Yes, it is." Jean spoke, gazing at something in the distance. She looked at what he was seeing. She saw a tall castle, old and worn, and standing atop was a tall angel.

"Ah, that is Castel Sant'Angelo. It is a very old castle that can be reached by passing a bridge filled with statues of angels called the Ponte Sant'Angelo. It was built as a tomb for the Emperor Hadrian and his family around the 135th anno domini. Do you know that it is now used as a fortress for the Holy See?" Elizabeth questioned.

"I had no idea that the--" Jean's words were halted when the sound of trumpets blared into the morning air. Turning around to face the progenitor of the disturbance, Elizabeth saw a coming carriage, with the Palace Guards escorting them atop steady horses. People were clapping amidst the sound of trumpets, and Elizabeth wondered why until the flag of His Majesty answered her mental question.

"Who are they?" Jean asked in his Russian-accented voice.

"They are members of the Court of His Majesty, King Vittorio Emanuele II. It is probably the the Duke of Rome, or the Prince of Milan, or even the King himself!" Elizabeth answered.

The carriage came closer, and she could see the amethyst drapes that covered the inner compartment. The Palace Guards, weapons sheathed and each carrying a small banner, flanked the carriage on the sides, front and back. Elizabeth stood on her toes as she tried to see who was parading in the carriage. At the same moment, the violet drapes were swept aside by a pale hand and caramel eyes collided with onyx night. She felt the world beneath her tremble with ambivalence, her whole being vaccumed into eyes of moonless night, of cavernous darkness, of raven's feathers, of onyx ice.

"Elizabeth!" Jean's voice was a distant call, she barely heard it. Suddenly, arms embraced her and pulled her back, realizing that she was an inch from death as the lead horse angrily neighed at her, the rider glaring at her furiously. "Are you crazy, woman? I almost killed you!" He seethed, causing Elizabeth to look away from the man she loved.

"Roy..." was all she could say. Elizabeth barely noticed that Jean's arms were still holding her, for her whole attention was on the moving carriage. Her eyes were locked unto his, taking him in. It had been so long ago that she had last seen him. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her stomach was in turmoil. Elizabeth tried her best to not run and jump into the carriage with him. But, when it came closer, Elizabeth felt shock drill her to the ground.

A beautiful, and voluptuously attractive woman, with ebony black tresses and porcelain skin was closely sitting next to him, too close. Dark violet eyes gazed at her beneath finely crafted eyelashes, her beauty overpowering everyone in the vicinity. She felt quite inferior to her. Yet, seeing a woman next to Roy brought back flashes of painful memories.

Cringing, she turned to Jean, who hadn't let go of her. Feeling safe in his arms, she quietly prayed that Roy would not recognize her. After all, there were a lot of blonde women in the area.

Time passed as she heard the carriage move on, and glancing at it through the corners of her eyes, she breathed in relief as it had disappeared down the street and was now shadowed by buildings.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth?" Jean asked, and Elizabeth looked up at him. She was thankful that he had not reacted badly to her less-than-ladylike actions. Other men would surely have left her once she began acting like a terrified child. It occured to her that she may have found a friend inside Jean Havoc.

"Yes, for now. Thank you, Jean." She answered, stepping away from him. Jean smiled at her in response. He then stared at where Roy had gone.

"Who was that? You seemed to know him."

_Indeed._

"That was Roy de Mustang, Prince of Milan and Duke of Florence." She replied, covering the pain in her voice with neutrality. "Anyway, I guess we shall continue with the tour then?" She inquired, looking at him.

"Alright. Where off to?"

"Perhaps the Piazza Navona? I can guarantee that you will not be disappointed." Elizabeth suggested, finally calming her rapidly beating heart. Jean nodded, and Elizabeth called for a carriage. Piazza Navona was faraway, and walking to the plaza would take hours.

A small carriage, with two sturdy grey horses, stopped in front of them. Jean went first and opened the door for her. She stepped in and sat, followed by Jean who sat opposite her. Noticing his height and broad frame brought back the thought that he and Alexander were Russians, and that made Elizabeth think why they were here.

"Jean, what is the reason that you would leave your home country to come here?" She asked, hoping that she didn't make it sound to personal. Jean seemed to place a guarded expression on his face, before his deep blue eyes softened.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth but Alexander made me promise not to tell anyone. He did say that I will have to tell you, but not now. He would say when the time was right." He answered, his words cryptic. Elizabeth took this as a sign to not ask anymore and engaged Jean in other topics. Still, the image of Roy and the other woman kept on returning to her mind even when they had finally reached the blessed Piazza Navona.

* * *

_Author's Note: So, I shall stop at that. I dearly pray that it was enough. Anyway, you may realize that I am actually pinpointing settings found important in Dan Brown's Angels & Demons. I dunno, I just love the guy and his books. Damn, the Lost Symbol was even awesome. But, for me, Angels & Demons was the best. After all, it was centered in my favorite country, and The DaVinci Code was also centered on my second favorite country, France. Oh and BTW, I'm sure you're all going to hate me for putting a bit of RoyXLust there. I know, it even sickened me. Anyhow, reviews everyone! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: You wouldn't believe that I wrote this chapter while playing AdventureQuest and DragonFable and reading foreverlight's Embarrassed Meeting (FMA: RoyXRiza). Damn, I missed those games. I had to start over because I forgot my password, which really sucks knowing that my last account had a very high-level necromancer in it. Anyhow, I recommend my readers to listen to Future World Music. They make those cool soundtracks for motion pictures like Avatar. Anyhow, I was listening to Martyr, by FWM, and the piece was quite good. And I just noticed that it had been a very long time since I had last written an Author's Note this long. Anyhow, I hope you're going to enjoy this chapter and I'm off, playing AQ, again._

_Deathcrest_

* * *

Chapter 4: Chevaliers de Rose

Jean ran a hand through his thick blond hair as he and the Czar made their way into the dining hall of the _Pyotr Velikiy_. It had been a tiring day, familiarizing himself with Rome while keeping an eye for any members of the Imperium. He felt his whole body swim in a sea of exhaustion, his mind in a haze of fatigue. He had no idea how he managed to complete dinner, bathe, dress himself and slip into the sheets of his bed but he was grateful for it. Warm under the covers, Jean felt the beginnings of sleep ease into his tired spirit. When he finally entered the realm of Hypnos, a resounding knock shattered the spell and awoke him instantly.

For a moment Jean laid there, trying to comprehend if the sound was real or that the line of reality and sleep was still uncrossed. Silence ensued the space between time, lulling Jean into the belief that the sound was nothing more than a figment of his spent mind. When he closed his azure eyes, ready to fall back into oblivion with dreams of his love, the thunderous boom echoed into the hushed room.

Grunting, Jean pulled himself up from the bed sheets, quite sure that the sound was real, and made his way to the door. When he was about to twist the knob, Jean recalled a similar moment with the Czar, so he straightened himself and wiped all signs of sleep from his face. When he deemed himself appropriate, Jean opened the door, to be greeted by the Czar's emissary. He had long blond hair in a briad, quite unusual for a male, with piercing golden eyes. He donned the emissary's outfit consisting of a scarlet cloak, covering the black armor beneath. He also wore black boots, and black trousers.

"Lieutenant Havoc?" The boy, who Jean noted was too young and too SHORT to be called a man, asked quite grumpily, obviously annoyed.

"Yes." Jean yawned, ready to collapse of exhaustion. When the boy grabbed something from underneath his cloak, Jean spotted a silver revolver that hung stiffly by his hip. Even emissaries had to carry weapons, for they were also carrying important messages. Clearly, the Czar did not want his enemies to intercept his communication with anyone.

"There is a letter for you." The boy handed him a flat piece of parchment, folded thrice and tied with a ribbon of deep azure, like his eyes. "It's from Delphine Rothernburg."

Jean's heart beat faster, and his mind lost all sense of sleep. The smile that etched into his face gave no justice to the immense happiness of getting Delphine's letter. How long had she last seen her blonde hair, her amber eyes, and those pink lips? How long ago had he held her in his arms, telling her softly that he would return and that when he did, he would make love to her like the first time they had when he and Delphine admitted their love for one another? He could now feel her soft touch, like gossamer wings of a butterfly, and hear the melodic sound of her voice. Indeed, he had missed her, and every dream he had of her ached him to the very core.

"Thank you...uh," Jean was ready to gratify the emissary who had brought him his love, when he suddenly realized that he had no idea what his name was. The boy seemed to understand this as he spoke out the name, "Edward, sir."

"Thank you, Edward. How old are you?"

"Fourteen, sir." He answered, his eyes on a distant room in the hallway. It was obvious that the kid was wanting to go to sleep already.

"Ah, now you go off to bed or you'll remain horribly short." That seemed to do it as a vein popped in his head and his face contorted into a mask of rage.

"_WHO ARE YOU AN ULTRA-HYPER-SUPER TINY MIDGET THAT CAN ONLY BE SEEN THROUGH A MICROSCOPE?_" Jean felt sweat drip into his face. The kid had serious height issues.

He watched Edward stalk off, muttering curses under his breath, the silver gun dangling by his hip. He was so young, yet he carried a weapon in a manner that he and other experienced men of war did. He made a reminder to ask the boy how he had ended up in the service of the Czar. For now, there were other matters, namely the letter from Delphine and sleep. Choosing the former, Jean closed the door and after lighting the lamp, slipped into his bed and gently opened the letter. The elegant script of Delphine warmed Jean.

_Dear Jean,_

_It has been a very long time since I have last seen, or spoken, to you. As the nights grow colder here in Saint Petersburg, I could not help but wish that the pillow I constantly wrap my arms around was you. It would have been better, and would have given me a good night's rest, if it really was you, but alas, the mind doesn't seem to fulfill my heart's desire. Nonetheless, there is nothing the matter with me. For all intent, I just miss you. I miss your smile, your voice, your kisses, your caresses, your love. _

_Who knew that your absence could turn me into a romantic who longs for her lover like Clytie did for Apollo, only with the exception that my Apollo would grace me with his love and affection. Indeed, when you return from your trip to Italy, I shall punish you for making me feel this way. You have transformed me into a maiden who thinks of nothing else but love. _

_In a way, I am grateful for that. You have shown me that there is more to this world than what I just feel from the dusty books and ancient pages of tomes in the Palace's library. I still remember how you first befriended me when you asked for help translating a document, when in all reality, you just wanted to hear me speak and comb my hair. That was the first time I blushed, Jean, and I can't help but feel love for you for making me open my eyes to the world._

_Still, I worry for you. You are in a land so far away, and I do hope that you are coming home. Not only I, but also those who have lovers upon the ship that carries you. Even the Empress, who always amused herself by knitting, was restless and she stared out to the mountains, as if willing the Pyotr Velikiy to appear over the horizon. I can quite say that I understand her, for I feel the same. But, please, Jean, do not ever worry of me. I am safe and alright. It is you who you are supposed to be worried. _

_Take care of yourself, and don't take needless risks. I know you are a soldier, and a handsomely brave patriot, but it is always not a soldier's job to die for his country. You know how it would affect me if I ever receive news of your death. So, Jean, please, be safe. I love you, and I will never doubt your love for me, but I will kill you if you return with a gunshot wound._  
_So, I hope you are fine there. When you return, will you tell me about the lands where you have traveled? I can only dream that one day, we can travel, you and I, together. Until your return, I await here, arms wide open._

_Yours forever in the eyes of God,_  
_Delphine Rothernburg_

_Written at the tenth hour, of the sixth day of the second month in the year of 1871,_  
_within the walls of the Winter Palace_

Jean clutched the letter close to his heart, feeling the tears of happiness welling in his eyes. How lucky had he been to find love inside Delphine, the quiet, enigmatic, book-loving handmaiden of the Empress? The lady-in-waiting had first avoided his advances and sought refuge within the tall shelves of the Palace Library, but Jean was persistent and she finally agreed to translate a document, of which Jean had no idea what it was for he was desperate, into Russian just so that he would stop pestering her. From then on, Jean would catch her when she was free or not busy and he would carry her away to their favorite spot in the Gardens. Wishing that she was here, next to him, turned the ache in his heart into a gnawing longing. Getting out of bed, Jean wrote a reply to her.

_My dear Delphine..._Jean began, writing out his love for her and everything that has happened. Finally, when he had finished the three-paged letter, Jean slipped it underneath his journal. He would have Edward send his letter back to her.

Feeling the call of sleep, he blew out the lamp and slid into his bed. It was too big, fit for two people. Sighing wistfully, he grabbed one of the two pillows and wrapped his arms around it. Embracing it tightly, Jean wished that the pillow was big enough, for it could not fit the warm body of Delphine. However, warmed by her letter, Jean began to doze off and re-entered the realm of Hypnos, hand-in-hand with Delphine.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Gracia asked softly as she cradled Maes' head in her arms as they both lied down on the bed, the cool moonlight dancing on the dark green waves of the bed sheets. Maes opened his hazel eyes, eyes that made her heart flutter with love for this man who had done so much for her and Elizabeth ever since their escape from the Citta Della Quattro Santa, and smiled gently at her, his black hair that seemed to shine a very dark green in the moonlight.

"I am now." He answered huskily, leaning forward to kiss her tenderly on the lips. Gracia responded, giving him her love. Once they had separated, Maes sat up and moved himself forward. He laid back down on the pillows, taking Gracia along with him, enveloping her in his strong arms and his bare chest. She gazed at his face. He looked more handsome without the glasses, but when he wore them, he also looked devilishly charming. Yet, when the man was being romantic, or being himself, or being an insufferable charmer, Gracia just fell more in love with him. What had she done to deserve such a man? It almost seems otherworldly, this type of man. She had always believed that men like Maes never existed, for they were too perfect. Now, her conviction fell into ruin as Maes enveloped her in a dazzling sky of love and hope for the future. Often, when she prayed, she thanked God for giving her Maes, and she also asked Him to not take Maes away from her.

Also, Gracia always included Elizabeth in her prayers, silently hoping that God would give the young woman happiness.

"I used to think that I would never fall in love." Maes murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. Gracia smiled too as she was pulled from her thoughts by Maes' announcement.

"So did I, once. But, when a tall, handsome Englishman passed by in his royal carriage, almost about to fall asleep, I knew that I was wrong." Gracia replied, receiving a kiss from Maes' on the forehead.

Silence passed, and Gracia was about to fall asleep when Maes' last words before exhaustion took them both laid a smile on her lips.

"Thank you, for loving me."

_Thank you, too, for loving me._ Gracia thought as she unconsciously wrapped her arms around his frame and buried her face into his chest, breathing in his cedar-like scent. She fell into slumber as the moonlight danced in the dark.

* * *

Roy stared unto the alighted city of Rome. He watched the people walk on the streets, the lanterns burning brightly and the clamor of business echoing even up to his balcony in the King's Palace. Even at night, Rome was still alive. Roy noted that the amber lights of the flames of lamps reminded him of a pair of amber eyes that had stared into his earlier when he and the Countess were riding down a street. They were so familiar that they were almost recognizable. But, like standing on the edge of a cliff and reaching out for the apple that hung just beyond, Roy failed to identify who those amber eyes belong. Unless...

_No, it couldn't be her._ Roy thought, defiantly. It was impossible, she was probably far from Italy by now. He made himself believe that. Even when the cold, hard truth punched him in the face.

When the carriage had sped by, Roy saw her. Though he only saw her back, he knew it was her. Countless times had he felt her body against his as he embraced her, so much that he memorized every part of her body. But what shocked him the most was that she was enveloped in the arms of another man.

The man wore a thick black coat and a fur hat, but Roy could make out the blond hair, and the deep azure eyes that followed him and the carriage.

"Your Highness, what are you doing out here?" The Countess' voice disturbed his thoughts, and he turned to stare into an alabaster face, with deep violet eyes and thick ebony locks tumbling down a white nightdress. Roy sighed, wishing it was Riza and not the Countess. But, knowing that you cannot get everything you want, Roy returned to the room.

And when he and the Countess made a night of debauchery, his only thought was that he wished that this woman on top of him was blonde and had piercing caramel eyes.

* * *

Alexander sighed as he watched the cold white of the moon, an unsettling feeling in his stomach. Unable to hold it, he turned and walked back to his desk and flopped unto the chair. He stared around, taking in everything: the shelves that lie stiffly by the walls, filled to the brim with books; his desk full of papers, maps, pens and notes; his bed, the dark mauve sheets untouched, the white pillows barely dented; the Romanov banner, ever magnificent, hung by the wall opposite to his bed. The feeling was still persistent.

Growling, Alexander called for his personal guard. His men appeared inside his room, all standing at attention in front of him, weapons on their bodies, armors ready.

"Is everyone here?" Alexander inquired, though he knew the answer to the question.

"No, Your Majesty. Lieutenant Havoc is resting." One of the men answered. Alexander nodded, not wishing to disturb the Chevalier de Rose's rest. "Let him sleep, the Lord knows what he has been through."

The feeling was now strong. Alexander knew that something was dearly wrong.

"By dawn, I want every capable body inside this ship to prepare for confrontation. I do not know whether there will be a confrontation or not, but I want everyone armed. Is that clear?" Alexander boomed, now standing. Something was giving him the oddest sensation.

The men stood stiffly and saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Alexander sighed wearily and rubbed his temples. He had not been getting enough sleep, lately. Plans were beginning to be set into motion, and Alexander had to stay awake at most to receive letters and messages in order to confirm that those plans were working. The tension between Britain and Russia had suddenly increased dramatically, and Alexander had gotten word that Britain had now amassed large armies consisting of French and British troops. He had also heard, from a very reliable source, that Italy had been proposed by Britain to join their side during the imminent war. Alexander took no chances, he could not rely on Italy's indecision to save him.

The feeling was still there.

* * *

The Maitresse stared into the faces of her men, giving each one a cold glare. She fingered the steel rod that she held as she walked around the table, watching the men sitting from the corner of her eye. Her personal entourage surrounded them, ready to kill the men if they made a threatening move at the Maitresse. All the while, she smiled wickedly as she felt her red dress swirl as she moved, almost like blood waves.

Finally, the time has come.

"Gentlemen, tonight we shall finally commence the Imperium's purpose. Tonight, the cascade of events will begin that will end in a glorious show of magnificence as the Imperium, once again, claim victory. For many years, we have sought out a mysterious entity dangerous to our mission. If we let it exist, then our purpose shall cease and we would not exist." She said, in a siren-like voice. Her words caused a chill to pass into the room, making everyone shudder but her.

"It has been called many names: the Hawk, the Gem of Truth, the Secret Queen, the Romanov Heir, and as such. But, we know of it as the Rose." She stopped and s tared into the eyes of her henchmen. They all stared at her, intent on every word she spoke.

"Tonight, when the mission is finally commenced, the Rose will be destroyed and we will claim triumph over our enemies."

One of the men sitting around the table spoke up. "So, the Rose has finally been discovered, madam?"

"Yes, and we will crush it beneath our boots." The men looked at one another and smiled, evil glinting in their eyes.

"But, we will take approach in a different manner." The Maitresse spoke, causing the men to look at her, confused. Smiling maleficently, she continued. "We will first orchestrate an event that will not only get rid of the Rose, but also our enemies."

"How will we begin this plan of yours, Maitresse?" Another man spoke up, but she paid no heed. Her mind was now on the event that will occur quite soon.

"We shall pay the King's son a visit at dawn."

Then she laughed, laughed as her madness consumed her. Her cackles sent a ghostly wail through the empty castle and into the night. Then, the others joined in and slowly, their laughter turned into a monstrous howl from beneath the chasms of the earth.

* * *

_Author's Note: Whoa, that was extremely...scenic. Anyway, the title of the chapter is translated into French as: "Knights of the Rose". Since I used elements of Angels&Demons in my latest chapter, I saw fit to use elements of the DaVinci Code here. And, no, Havoc is not the only Chevalier de Rose, Alexander is too and some others, that will be revealed. And isn't Ed quite cute to be seen as an emissary? I really wanted to put him and Al in the story, and don't fret, 'cause you'll be seeing him and Al alot as the story progresses. I know, this chapter is quite scenic: I mean, four different scenes all moving towards the plot. In that, I'll just leave you all to wonder what's gonna happen next._

_Also, I just watched Tim Burton's (I mean, seriously, the dude is my role model and inspiration, I have seen every movie he had made!) Alice in Wonderland, and I got this idea and I don't know if I'm going to turn into a story(definitely Royai) but I'll just think about that. Anyway, the idea was that Roy Mustang is a doctor (from Earth, mind you) who is invited to a magician's show. He accepts and watches the show, and during the course of the show, he is chosen to stand inside the box that the magician is about to cut in half (your usual magician trick.). He accepts, and steps in. When he steps out, he is suddenly in Shamballa (yep, that's right, FMA World), a world under the command and rule of the Crystalline Queen (Shamballa is going to be SO different). Suddenly, Roy's life is pressed into danger as he and a couple of friends try to save both Shamballa and Earth from the Crystalline Queen's destruction._

_I know, very weird but I'd like to hear if you would like that idea to become a story. If you want me to turn that into a story, just include it in your reviews. If I get many approvals, I may write the story after I have finished this current Royai. Oh, and if you're wondering where Riza is gonna be in that idea above, you'll be surprised.  
_

_And, lastly, I have one last question. This question is probably what plagued the minds of you readers in a very long time, since Child of the Dark Morn._

_The Question: What is the Rose?_

_Now, if you think you know the answer, just PM me that. Wow, this is one long author's note. O.o_


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: This chapter is gonna be...epic. And this chapter is gonna screw history, so be prepared. I'm changing some actual facts to fit my story, so if you're the person who hates stories not compatible with actual history, then I suggest you press the green button with an arrow to the left, also called the "BACK" button._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 5: Let The Hammer Fall

The Maitresse and her men entered the manor, after quietly eliminating the guards. It was a bit of a problem, knowing that a mistake could alert the whole house, but it went smoothly, as every member of her entourage had participated in the silencing of the guards. Her gun was poised in her left hand, hidden in the velvet cloth of her black dress, while the sleek blood-stained stiletto was gripped in her right hand tightly. She had worn well for the occasion: a long black dress, with a thick black corset that acted as body armor. In case she was ever disarmed, two daggers were sheathed in her boots, and the hexagon necklace she wore had razor-sharp sides, able to slice skin like a knife.

After opening the door, two of her men flanked her, checking for signs of resistance. She looked back at the men behind her, eyeing them coldly. Her gaze was directed to the man in the center; he was a pivotal member to their plan. Without him, none of the discussed results would occur, and there would be no Imperium.

"I hope you will not forget your part in this, Sergei." She said, her voice laced with malice. The man smiled an insanely horrible smile.

"Of course not, Maitresse. I will do everything I can to ensure that we succeed today."

"Very well," She looked around her men, then spoke. "let us begin."

Hell was unleashed into the home of the Crown Prince of Italy.

Everywhere, there were screams of pain and wails of horror. Death ravaged every living soul, snuffing out the very essence of life. Shots were fired, and bodies fell, the crimson liquid of life bathing the marble floor. The sound of unsheathed weapons against wood and skin thundered across the entire manor, shaking it to the ends of their graves. A deluge of blood swept the manor in a reddish haze.

A guard roared and ran towards her with his sword raised high above his head, poised to deliver a killing blow, believing in the fact that a woman like her was no match in his eyes. She proved him wrong. When the man was just one more step away, the Maitresse stepped to the left and with a flick of her wrist, slammed the stiletto deep into the man's face. Before he could utter a cry, she pulled the dagger down and off the body, slitting the man's face vertically. Some of the other guards saw what happened and ran at her, surrounding her with their weapons drawn. Then they charged, like provoked beasts upon the innocent. Without hesitation, she twirled in her place, shooting each man in the head. They all fell simultaneously, like the tentacles of a dying octopus. A second after she had lowered her gun hand, two more rushed at her, this time from opposite sides: one in front of her, the other behind.

Gripping the stiletto tightly, she threw it at the man storming at her from the front. It sailed in the air, swift and lethal. The man's grunt was affirmation as the stiletto sunk into his neck. Regretting only for a moment, the Maitresse ripped the necklace from her neck and turned around to face the assaulting man, letting go of her gun in the process. Just when he was about to thrust the sword into her abdomen, she gripped it and pushed the impending metal away from her as she slashed at the man with her razor-like necklace. She only recognized a narrow diagonal slit across the man's neck before he fell, blood flowing down his armor. She dropped the necklace and picked up her gun.

Outraged cries were silenced as the Maitresse took one after the other, not sparing any who got in her way. Silence ensued, and the Maitresse looked around. She saw the bodies of massacred guards, gutted maids and decapitated stumps of stable boys. Their blood caked the clothes of her and her men, but she paid no heed. Even the blood dripping from her arms was ignored.

Then, suddenly, the great doors of the hallway boomed open. A man stood in its center, sword in hand, and his brown eyes blazing with fury. His dark brown hair was in disarray and his short stature was shaking with anger.

"What in damnation is this?" The man shouted, then she knew that it was the Crown Prince. Slowly, she leveled her gun hand and shot.

As if time had slowed, she could see the bullet streaking across air as it pummeled into the wrist of the Crown Prince. A howl of pain was heard as he fell to his knees, grasping his wounded hand in hurt.

"_YOUR HIGHNESS!_" She turned, and saw a guard running towards her, sword poised to thrust into her. But, before she could even raise her gun, the Maitresse saw something silver fly in the air with amazing speed and the guard was pushed aside. It took a while for the Maitresse to recognize that the silver was a knife, now embedded to the hilt in the man's head.

She turned to the owner of the weapon and saw Sergei grinning at her as if he had gained all the riches of the world. The Maitresse returned his deluded grin.

"Well, Sergei," She looked back at the Crown Prince, who was still on his knees. "it seems our work here is done. You will continue the rest."

He nodded, and raised his hand that held a gun and fired two shots. A scream of pain erupted into the air: Sergei had shot the Crown Prince's knees, immobilizing him. She nodded in satisfaction at his gaze, and with a flick of her knife hand, left the manor with her men, leaving Sergei to finish his business.

As the entourage stepped out into the coming dawn, she turned to one of her men. "Are the others commencing the mission as we speak?"

"Yes, Maitresse. They must be finished by now."

"Excellent, now, let us pay a visit to the King himself." The Maitresse smiled evilly, basking in the success of her plans.

* * *

"What do you suggest we do, Prince Mustang? The recent murders have now resulted in the death of my son. MY SON!" The King roared at the council. Every aristocrat, soldier, and civilian present stiffened at his ireful bellow. Roy gazed at the mourning man with pity clashing with conviction. Until now, the chain of murders had been by an unknown hand. Now, it was reveled by the Chief Police that a Russian aristocrat by the name of Sergei Romanov had orchestrated the deaths of several Italian nobles and Prince Umberto, the heir to the Italian throne. When they had discovered the man, he had confessed his sins with a maniacal grin and announced fanatically that his 'motherland' will crush the pathetic wasteland known as 'Italy'.

If Roy didn't know better, the man was practically trying to start a war. But, Roy was not sure of that. After all, it was Russia and Britain that had tension anxieties, not Italy and Russia. Yet, the recent disclosure of a Russian man murdering several men of influence and power had now resulted in Italy's obvious dislike against the Russians.

"Your Majesty, wouldn't it be prudent to contact Britain and her allies if such series of deaths had happened?" Roy inquired, hoping to make the man aware of the present condition of the state. The man looked up from his downward gaze with a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"What would that present for us then, Prince Mustang?" He asked in a hoarse voice.

"If Britain and her allies are indeed suffering from the same...inconvenience, we can then launch a series of campaigns against these men's homeland; to seek justice, as to say." Roy responded.

"And what if these men are not committing these murders out of loyalty or nationalism, but rather out of spite and anger? If we launch a campaign against Russia, only to find that the murdering monster was diagnosed with some mental disorder, that would lead to conflict between two nations! Italy is still new to the idea of unification! A war will break the fragile bonds the provinces had made under my rule." The King asked again, his eyes flashing in anger and sorrow at his son's death.

"That will be a chance Italy must be willing to make, Your Majesty. For if my theory is correct, then it would strengthen the link that the Italian lands hold. The provinces will be united under a banner of justice and liberty, they will seek retribution for their loss! Italy will be made stronger, and the master of this morbid orchestra will be sanctioned!" Roy countered, finally achieving in making the King realize the choice and the weights that each carry.

For a moment, everyone was silent. The aristocrats: the Dukes, Duchesses, Counts, Countesses; the soldiers: Commanders, Generals, Lieutenants, Colonels and every one in the room was silent. Roy felt the stillness through the air. No one even made a move. It was as if every living being inside had been turned into stone. Then someone stood up, and Roy suddenly glimpsed a woman with short black hair, piercing purple eyes. She wore a golden dress, strings of pearls beaded the corset-like bodice and a silver crown sat atop her head. When she had stood, her escort of guards and ladies-in-waiting stood with her.

"I agree with the Prince of Milan. Vittorio, you must see past your haze of pain that Italy is now at the brink of collapse if you allow the deaths to go unpunished." Queen Lyra spoke, her voice a silken song in the air. Everyone looked at her, still in shock that the Queen of Denmark was in their presence.

"Alexandrina! Pardon my surprise and bluntness - why are you here?" The King asked.

"I have come, Vittorio, to ask that you join our cause. Britain, France and the lands under my rule had suffered by the sword of Russia and her confederacy."

"What? - Whatever do you mean, Alexandrina?"

"Our allies have suffered a blow from the cruel and heathen land that is led by the Romanovs! I regret to even be called 'Grand Duchess of Russia'!" Lyra spoke, her voice strained with passion.

"Your Majesty, I agree with His Highness the Prince and Her Majesty, the Queen of Denmark. We must take action now, and that action is to justify Italy's loss!" The ambassador from Sardinia, whom Roy noted to be wizened and with graying hair, dressed in garments of silver and amethysts, announced, garnering agreement from the diplomats of the other provinces.

"We wish to not condone any course of action that would lead us to war, Your Majesty, but there is no other course of action left. The Council, and the Prime Minister agree with the Prince of Milan, and the Queen of Denmark. We must ally our land with the British Empire." Another aristocrat said.

King Vittorio Emanuele, still reeling from the pain of losing his son and heir, gazed through the crowd and into the far, towering windows, and out to Italy with sad, hopeless eyes.

Then he sighed, and all life went out of his eyes. "Then we are at war."

Suddenly, Roy had this unnatural feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Vittorio, I shall be the first to applaud and welcome you and Italy to the Imperium Federation. For your brave acceptance of our offer, I shall deliver you the first strike of Justice's hand." Lyra announced, sparking confusion inside Roy.

"What do you mean, Your Majesty?" He asked, looking at the Queen questioningly. She smiled a knowing smile that made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

"A Russian ship is docked near Rome, sir Mustang. Of course, now that Italy has pledged allegiance to the Federation, we shall then commence our goal: to eliminate all enemy units within our territory." She replied, her frozen voice sending chills down her spine. Roy had never thought that the first day Italy allied itself with Britain, there would be bloodshed.

"But, Your Majesty, it has not been written and announced to the public!" Roy exclaimed, leveling his voice to a polite degree. The Queen raised her head in an apparent manner of condescension.

"Justice need not written down in a piece of paper in order to validate its cause, sir Mustang. Whatever action that is done in the name of Justice is verified already, in the eyes of men and in the eyes of the Lord." She replied, a brow rising at her words. Roy sighed; she had a point. He tried to digest what he had heard, trying to understand the situation that was unveiling before his eyes. There was no choice: they had to step forward and unsheathe their sword.

"Sir Mustang, you are a Commander, are you not?" The Queen inquired.

"I am, Your Majesty." Roy answered cautiously.

"Then, I shall see you on the battlefield."

* * *

She couldn't help the smile that ripped her face apart. No matter how much she tried to, Elizabeth could not supress her joy no more than she can deny the yellow color of her hair, or the deep caramel of her eyes. She was so happy for the both of them.

"My congratulations to you both! I-I-for the first time, I can't say how happy I am!" She said, earning a grin from the loving couple. Maes and Gracia's faces were alight with infallible joy, their dream coming true. Elizabeth felt tears summon themselves into the corners of her eyes but she wiped them off, still smiling at the two.

"Whe-," Elizabeth cleared her throat."When is the wedding?"

Gracia smiled at Maes, who was gazing at her with the same love and affection that she used to see in Roy's eyes. Elizabeth wondered if she would find happiness like Gracia did someday. She could only hope for the best.

"We haven't settled for a date yet but when we do," Gracia disentangled herself from Maes' possessive arms, and walked to her, grasping her hands in the process. "I would like you to be my maid of honor."

Elizabeth's heart thudded and her smile could not have gotten wider than it already was. "Oh my, are you sure Gracia? Are you really sure?"

"Yes, if that's no problem with you, that is." Gracia answered, her viridian eyes gazing at her with understanding.

"Oh, no that's no problem. I would love to. Who is the best man?"

Maes and Gracia were silent when she asked, and Elizabeth had an inkling to why. Maes stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face and his hazel eyes shining with support and consideration. Elizabeth, then, knew the answer. "It's Roy, is it? You wanted your best friend to be there at the happiest day of your life."

Maes sighed. "Elizabeth, I know that he hurt you, and I can see that it really left a scar in you, but..."

"But what?" She asked, pleading with him to continue. It has been a very long time, and Elizabeth was still as in love with the man as she had been in the palace.

Maes's hazel eyes turned affectionate. "I want the woman, who made my best friend very happy for the first time in many years, to be happy."

That, and the fact that Maes wanted her to be as happy as he and Gracia, touched a cord in her heart. In response, Elizabeth just smiled. "I think I'd like that, Maes."

"Very well, then. So, with that over, why don't we all prep-" His sentence was cut short as the doors to their home burst open, dazzling them all with the bright morning light. Against the rays of the sun, Elizabeth could make out silhouettes of men. When the one in the center stepped forward, Elizabeth recognized him.

"Jean? What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Elizabeth, do you know these men?" Maes asked heatedly, pulling her away from them along with embracing his fiancee. She replied to his question. "I know the blond one."

"Elizabeth, you have to get out of here!" Jean spoke, in the Russian-accented commanding voice of his.

"What do you mean?"

"The Italian guards are coming! They're going to detain anyone who had any form of contact with us!" He said, his sharp blue eyes gazing into hers.

"Why?"

"Please, not now! I'll explain later, but you must get your things and follow us. You're not safe, nor are they!" He answered, ending his sentence while gesturing at Maes and Gracia. This time, there was no mistaking the command in his voice. In compliance or not, they were going to take her away. Suddenly, the moment of happiness had turned into one that was on the verge of panic. She knew she had to keep her head, and stay calm.

"Maes, Gracia, get your stuff, we're going!" Elizabeth exclaimed, already on the move. She turned to the small hallway to their rooms. She looked back at Jean who, she noticed, was loading his rifle. She took in his uniform, the black coat, boots, gloves and the blood red beret. "Jean, wait for us here. We'll be back."

"Are you sure we can trust them? What if they're lying?" Maes asked through gritted teeth as they hurried to their rooms.

"I think we can, but I'm not sure. But, I do know that you are not safe." Elizabeth answered as she kicked the door open.

"What do you mean?" He asked, standing by the doorway, letting Gracia pack their clothes since they shared a room.

Elizabeth, not looking up as she placed clothes and her journal into a knapsack, answered. "You're English, but you have been in contact with me, and I have been in contact with Alexander and Jean, who turned out to be Russians. They'll no doubt arrest you for that."

Moments later, the three of them entered the sitting room to find Jean and what seemed to be his men, seeing that they had the same uniforms, looking out for any sign of the Italian guards. When Jean saw them, he moved inside the room and grabbed Elizabeth's knapsack. "Come on, there's a carriage waiting outside."

They all exited, letting her, Maes and Gracia first into the carriage. She noted that the horses had some kind of armor on them and that the driver was speaking to Jean in the same accent. She realized that he was probably a friend of Jean's. Once she had entered and sat opposite to Maes and Gracia, Jean climbed in and sat next to her. His bulky build provided comfort for Elizabeth as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"Listen, I know that everything is confusing right now but I want you to lie low for a while, alright?" He asked, his blue eyes gazing at hers pleadingly. He then gazed at Meas. "You, too."

When he looked at Gracia, he smiled. "You don't need to hide, ma'am. You're not part of the detainment. They didn't know that you were in contact with Elizabeth and...um..."

"Maes Hughes, former royal diplomat to Her Majesty, the Queen of England." Maes held out a hand, his hazel eyes flashing with caution.

Jean took it and shook firmly, his deep azure eyes alight with suspicion. "Jean Havoc, First Lieutenant to the Imperial Russian Army and Colonel to the Imperial Escort of His Imperial Majesty, the Czar of Russia."

Elizabeth could have sworn that there was smug pride in Jean's tone but she forgot about it as she nodded to Jean when he looked at her. She laid down on his lap, wrapping her arms around herself. Jean took off his black coat, revealing a white long-sleeved shirt underneath. He laid down on her side and covered the both of them with the coat.

"Maes, there is a black sheet underneath your seat. Use it." Jean spoke from behind her. Elizabeth couldn't see but she heard the faint rustling of someone rummaging. She heard Maes reassure Gracia, and she felt a pang of guilt for including them in this. They were engaged, and they were already prepared to plan for their marriage. Once again, she had brought misery to her companions. She'd apologize later when she could have the chance.

"Are you alright?" Jean whispered. Elizabeth could hear the undertone of concern in his voice. She smiled at his brotherly manner.

"I am. You?"

"I will be when we get to the ship." He answered.

"Ship?"

"Yes, that's what we'll be traveling in when we leave."

"We're leaving Rome?"

"We're leaving Italy."

Elizabeth sensed anxiety, excitement and dread amalgamate horridly within her. She felt anxious at the fact that she was leaving the country. Excitement, because she had never ridden a boat and had never been to the sea. Dread, Elizabeth felt, for she knew that she was putting Maes and Gracia's lives in peril. To keep panic from getting to her, Elizabeth chose to fiddle with the badges on Jean's coat. The silence was consuming. She could hear the commotion outside: the voices of people, the barks of dogs and the occasional grunts and curses.

"I'm sorry." Jean said. Elizabeth, though he could not see her face, frowned.

"For what?"

"For dragging you into this madness." She contemplated his words, the cutting regret in them and using the hand that was nearest to his, searched for his hand until she grasped it. She clenched it in a tight but comforting manner that she had learned from Gracia.

"It's alright. I should be thanking you."

"Why?"

"Because I will finally be able to see the sea." She answered, surprised at the rhyme in the end of her sentence. He chuckled quietly and she could not help but smile. Jean was so like family, he had this air of brotherly affection towards her that she could not find more comforting.

The carriage rode on, bumping occasionally and then steadying itself. From time to time, she could hear the driver shout something in a different, yet familiar language. She recognized it, with the way the man fluidly said the words as if he had grown up hearing them, as Russian, even though she had no encounter with the language before. At moments of silence, she could also hear Maes whisper to Gracia. When she lifted the edge of the coat up a little, she could see one of Gracia's hand clutching one of Maes' from underneath the sheet.

Then, the carriage abruptly halted. Everyone turned silent and Elizabeth saw Maes' hand slip back under the sheet before lowering the cloak. From outside, she could hear voices, this time in Italian. Her heart suddenly skipped when Jean said that they were Italian Guards. She hoped that Gracia would not panic.

The voices were getting louder and she could hear their conversation, and was shocked to hear how well the driver spoke in Italian.

"What do you mean harboring fugitives? I am merely taking my mistress on a short cruise through Rome."

"Short cruise? Our guards there report that this carriage was from the village where the fugitives were hiding!" She recognized it as one of the guards, for it was unfamiliar.

"How dare you insinuate that my mistress is nothing more than a criminal! Were I not old, I will have come down now and teach you men a lesson in respect!"

"What? Say that again and I will have you and whoever is in there arrested!"

"On what? On demand of courtesy and respect? Ha! I'm quite sure that the Chief Police will deem out your punishment!"

Things were suddenly taking a downward turn as the guards begin to open the carriage door. As if hearing her silent plea, Elizabeth heard the opening of a window and Gracia's voice, which was surprisingly frigid and haughty. "Whatever are you men doing to my poor driver?"

The men, Elizabeth heard, were at a loss for word. They were clearly not expecting this."Uh..I'm sorry for distressing you madam. I did not...We were.."

"What you were doing could be summed up in assault. Would you like me to report you to the Chief Police?" Her tone was almost ice.

"No, madam!"

"Then I suggest you let us be on our way, then."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The carriage, Elizabeth noted, began to move. She could hear the driver thanking Gracia, who answered as she closed the windows. When the cabin fell silent, Elizabeth could feel the panic drain away as the carriage sped off away from danger. Suddenly, Gracia spoke in a cheery voice that was completely opposite from a while ago.

"Well, then. With that gone and done, why don't we all take off the coat and sheet? It is probably stifling under them."

"I am so fortunate," Maes began, as he took off the sheet and folded it in his arms as he laid his head on Gracia's laps, his eyes on hers. "that I have not made the mistake those guards made."

Laughter, even at an oppressive time as this, erupted in the cabin. Even Jean, who was constantly looking out the windows, chuckled. He took the coat and folded it in his laps.

"Indeed. You were astounding, madam Gracia. You must be proud to have such a brave wife, sir Hughes."

"Maes, if you please, Jean." She saw Maes' smile widen at Jean's mistaken observation that Gracia was Maes' wife. Jean nodded to Maes' reply.

"Call me Jean, then."

Elizabeth smiled at the conversation of the two. She looked out the window, the thought dawning on her that they were now exiting Rome. She looked back at Jean. "Where is the ship docked, Jean?"

"The ship is in Lido di Osdia. I think we are probably near now."

Elizabeth nodded as she stared out to the window and into the tumbling green and the passing mountains.

* * *

_Author's Note: Go Lee! I just watched Lee win in AI, so you get the comment. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. This chapter now begins the series of events that will really push the plot. Hope you all like it! REVIEWS everyone!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: So, here goes the sixth chapter. I hope you all like it, because trust me, I really need the encouragement right now. If any of you can kindly suggest any kind of symphonic, classical, Gothic kind of music, that would really help me in getting perspective. And to everyone who read my mistake, I made a error in posting this chapter with that of chapter one.  
_

* * *

Chapter 6: Confession

The ironclad ship that stood like a large sentry amidst turbulent rapids and domineering waves of wind graced Elizabeth with the primordial feeling of fear and terror. The sight of the large battle cruiser froze the blood in her veins, the multiple cannons and artillery weapons stopping the beat of her live heart. She faintly wondered if the cannons had enough power to level the buildings of Lido di Osdia. Elizabeth knew deep inside that they were more than capable.

There were men, wearing the same sort of uniform that Jean wore, patrolling the area with rifles at hand. Some of the men stood on the deck of the ship, unmoving and alert. She thought that if anyone so much as raised a hand to attack, those men would pellet them with bullets without hesitation. The thought sent chills down her spine.

The carriage halted in front of a small bridge to the ship, flanked by armed men. The waves splashed sporadically against the concrete deck, sending small explosions of water upward. The shriek of seagulls and albatrosses echoed in the distance, like whispered voices of drowned men. Jean opened the carriage door and stepped out first, saluting the men that stood at attention. He turned and held his hand out for her to take, slowly climbing down the narrow steps, her knapsack by her side. Maes and Gracia followed suit, hands entwined and with Gracia wearing Maes' black frock coat.

She looked around, gazing at the scenery around her. A few buildings stood silently, with people entering and exiting at some time. Some were dilapidated, looking as if a burst of wind would topple them into ruins. Lampposts littered the walkways, some still burning light even as the noon sun came into afternoon.

"Elizabeth, hurry. There isn't much time." Jean motioned, letting her aboard the ship first. She picked up the hem of her dress with one hand and ran up the bridge without hesitation, her knapsack dangling by her shoulder. Gracia boarded the ship next, followed by Maes and then Jean. Finally, the small platoon of soldiers marched up the bridge, with the last two drawing it back into the deck. Elizabeth looked around.

The fierce armaments looked larger and dangerous up close, seeing the iron plates attached to their sides and the number of soldiers standing by it. She was surprised, to say the least, that the total number of men were more than what she first thought. This was not a platoon, this was a military battalion on sea.

Someone called her name, and when she turned, she felt her mouth fall open slightly. Standing there was Alexander, but he was not the Alexander she knew. He was dressed regally to an inch. He wore a dark blue coat, with gold tassels hanging by the shoulders. Medals and badges were pinned on the right side of his chest, above a light blue sash. His cuffs were designed royally in gold and diamond stones replaced the buttons on it. A sheathed sword sat by his hip, aligned with the dark blue trousers he wore and the polished black boots.

Every man in the vicinity stood at attention and then bowed in chorus. Bewilderment was written in Elizabeth's face, and as she turned around, so was the faces of Maes and Gracia. Suddenly, Jean's words flashed in her mind.

_"Jean Havoc, First Lieutenant to the Imperial Russian Army and Colonel to the Imperial Escort of His Imperial Majesty, the Czar of Russia."_

She finally placed the pieces together: Alexander's regal gait, Jean's sincere deference and respect for him, the chasing Italian inquisitors bent on imprisoning the Russians.

When Roy had taught her lessons on history and the world, and after the events at the Palazzo della Quattro Santa, Maes and Alexander had stepped up to take his place as her teacher. She always had this burning passion to learn, and when both men complied, she drank in their words as much as a thirsty man drank water from a river. She had read of this titanic empire in the north that span thousands of acres of land. She had also known of its mystical culture, of its highborn-like people and its monarchy that was ruled by a large dynasty.

Alexander was no lord. Elizabeth finally found the truth in that.

He was an Emperor.

And, at that tense moment, she knew not whether she should have bowed or knelt to the ground.

* * *

Frank Archer gazed out the window of his room and watched the Czar and the new arrivals enter the deck. It was the blonde woman that took his attention. He knew that the woman was important to the Czar, he could see it in the man's brown eyes. An evil grin rose in his face as he felt lust swirl in him at the sight of the woman. She was beautiful, and she had a curvaceous form that was not hidden even in the matronly dress she wore. He didn't give a damn if the woman was noble or not. Frank was a Chancellor, and he got what he wanted.

* * *

Roy entered the Dinning Hall, his polished black boots striking the marble floor with loud thuds. He had returned to the Citta della Quattro Santa during the afternoon, after receiving a report that the Russians had fled from Italian territories. On his way back, he had ordered a couple of his men to look for Riza. He didn't give them her name, only her physical description and the area where he had last seen her. He had also left specific instructions that if they did find her, they were to escort her back to the Palazzo della Quattro Santa.

To hell with rules of the aristocracy; he wanted Riza back and, now that he was Prince, not even his father could override his decision.

"Roy! Welcome home, my son!" His father proclaimed, his dark eyes shining with merriment. Though he was lesser of rank compared to Roy, his father was no less imperious in his garment of royal blue and gold. His mother, ever-smiling, looked no less authoritative in her dress of flame-colored brocade and dazzling gold silk. Maids and servants bustled around, bowing as he passed them, supplying the large table with bowls of food. A manservant entered and brought a steaming pot of soup and offered to serve them a bowl. Roy took a seat opposite his mother, who sat on the right side of his father, who sat in the center.

A plate was placed in front of him, and it was filled with delicious food that made Roy's stomach quiver in hunger. Grabbing the fork and the knife, Roy helped himself to the grilled lamb chops, which was heavenly dipped in meat sauce alongside rosemary. He also ate a serving of smoked salmon and drank a glass of creme de menthe. The dinner was sumptuous, and after eating, a bottle of brandy was presented.

While drinking with his family, a lady-in-waiting entered and brought a book for his mother. Even when he had seen them ever since he was born, it still unnerved Roy that the ladies-in- of his mother almost looked the same as her. It also struck him how different Riza was from the other ladies-in-waiting. Aside from her physical distinction, Riza was not conceited and was not by any means a sycophant. She said what she thought, and did not give any care at what others thought. It made her look so noble, so regal that she stood out from the pretenders with her simple honesty. That, and her renewed passion for life, was reason Roy loved her so much.

"Mother, I saw Riza during my stay in Rome." Roy spoke casually, after taking a sip of the brandy. His father, Leonardo, who was gazing at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy, smiled at him. Roy noticed that the lady-in-waiting, whoever she was, looked up from her knitting and looked at Roy with wide green eyes that bordered on fear. "How is she, Roy?"

Roy shrugged. "I don't know. I was riding in the carriage when I saw her."

His mother stared in confusion. "Riza? Who is Riza, Roy?"

"Vittoria, don't you remember your former lady-in-waiting?" Leonardo pointed out, with Roy nodding.

"Mother, she had blonde hair, amber eyes and was taller than most of your ladies-in-waiting." Roy joked, grinning at her.

Roy's smiling countenance evaporated and his sense of alarm peaked when her mother dropped the book, and her calm viridian eyes flashed with ire. Her milky white cheeks were flushed, and Roy knew that it was not from the brandy.

"Roy, you must understand that...that _Riza_ is someone that you should not acquaint yourself anymore!" Vittoria fumed, gripping the arms of the chair she sat on until her knuckles turned white.

"What are you talking about?" Roy asked, his caution flaring. Leonardo was now sitting up, his muscles tense. The lady-in-waiting had abandoned her knitting and was watching them with a pointed carefulness alongside the need to flee. To flee from what, Roy had no idea.

"That whore deserved to be hanged by all means!" Vittoria replied heatedly, anger evident in her face. But that was paid no attention by Roy, for all his focus was at what his mother had said. He couldn't believe it, not in a million years. His ears were ringing with the sudden anger that rose in him like unwanted bile. He alarmingly found the urge to vomit his dinner while punching something. He felt his insides grow cold: freezing, frigid, winter-like cold.

"Whore? Riza, a whore?" Roy was surprised at the icy calmness of his tone. He had expected himself to shout impulsively at the cruel prejudice the woman he loved was displayed with, much worse that it came from his mother, a person he loved and respected.

"Roy, she seduced you so that she could gain the wealth of our family. She was nothing more than a courtesan!" His mother's voice got louder at every word.

"Vittoria, perhaps it will be prudent if you explain to Roy calmly." His father spoke, caution in his tone.

The anger was boiling in him by now. "And you deduced this from...what?"

"Leonora caught her plotting in her quarters. Doing the right thing, she informed us of that Riza's philandering, thieving abomination."

"Leonora?" Roy asked, his voice empty. His mother pointed to the lady-in-waiting that was looking at them with a sense of pride in her face, although it was still clouded a bit by fear.

He stood, and stepped closer to Leonora. She straightened herself and curtsied before bowing her head in the usual deference to authority. The mauve dress she wore pooled around her, the pearls embedded into the bodice shining like pale stones. He admitted that Leonora was beautiful, but beauty was nothing to him now that he knew she was ugly within. Beauty was meaningless, when the inner self was filled with vile filth. "Your Grace, you wish something?"

"Yes, look at me." She did so, and looked at him. "Look at my eyes, Leonora."

Her green eyes met onyx, and Roy had the sudden urge to clamp his hands around her throat. He finally saw her for what she was: a viper. People like her, who delighted in the suffering of others, sickened him. Leonora had placed herself above other people so that she could further her own ends.

"Mother," Roy called out. "did I ever tell you that Riza worked every day of her life with only a piece of bread to sustain her?"

He turned, looking deliberately into his mother's eyes. "Did I forget to mention that she only had one dress, and she wore it ever since because she had no other?"

"Roy, this is not-" His mother began but Roy cut her off.

"Did I fail to mention that she had the most benevolent of hearts? Did I inform you of how she gave her earnings to a homeless mother and child? Did I never pointed out how she placed the happiness of others above her own, even when it meant that she could never be fully happy?" Roy asked, his voice sharpening at every question.

"Don't you dare talk to me in that tone, Roy Mu-"

"Did Leonora ever tell you of how she had tried to seduce _me_, of how she asked only _spare change_ in exchange for her services, talking as if half of the Mustang funds as spare change?"

"What?" His mother looked stricken, shocked. His father was now standing, his mouth opened slightly. His dark eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at Leonora.

"Is this true, Leonora?"

The woman opened her mouth a couple of times before she raised her head and spoke in a haughty expression. "Yes, whatever the Prince had said was true. But that martyr concubine deserved what she got. Especially when the Grand Duchess kicked her out, saying that she was a whore and having the guards literally throw her out the palace. I was even delighted to see the woman bleed."

Roy's eyes widened, and his heart came to a stop as he looked at his mother with shock written on his face. Before, he felt blazing, raging infernal anger but now, he only felt hurt and a deep betrayal. "Was she telling the truth, mother?"

His mother was now devoid of anger, but a raging guilt was flashing in her eyes. Roy felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut. "Roy, please forgive me, but I thought..."

Roy swallowed the lump in his throat and fought the coming tears. "I understand. We were deceived."

"You will pay for this, Leonora. For misleading this family's authority and for the misplaced punishment of a human being!" His father growled. Leonora stood her ground and smirked.

"I shall then. Throw me into the prison or hand me over to the kitchen staff, I do not care. I will find joy as long as that woman is now suffering and gone."

Roy looked at her, knowing that she had decided her own fate. For her crimes against moral authority, and against the woman he loved, there was only one fitting sanction.

"No, father."

"What?" His father was surprised, to say the least. "She will be punished! Roy, she swindled us and hurt someone, someone who I know that you unconditionally love!"

"I know, but not that way." He saw Leonora smirk even wider; she obviously misjudged his statement. She thought that he'd spare her, that he'd choose her over Riza.

Over his dead, rotting body will he choose her over Riza.

Staring into her eyes with the utmost hate and desire for vengeance, he spoke the words that turned the room into ice.

"At dawn, she will be hanged."

* * *

_AN: So this is the sixth chapter! I hope y'all like it! And I hope you all review, 'cuz I stayed up until three in the morning, even with training the morning before, to write these chapter for all of you. Can you actually believe that I made it all this way without a beta reader and an editor?  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: School's back, and I don't have the time I used to have during summer. That means that I can no longer update this story consistently. Also, I chose to delete my story "From Inside the Box" and I made the decision of posting it after my current stories. Anyhow, I hope you all like this chapter._

* * *

Chapter 7: Chasing Phantoms

Gripping the reins tightly, Roy stared around the Italian capital as the galloping animal he rode ran with due haste. Behind him, two scouts followed, their eyes looking everywhere with dangerously pointed precision. The rest of his search cadre was in the other parts of the city, searching for Riza.

"There!" Roy exclaimed as he pointed to a small, white house off to the side. It's roof was painted a deep red and the doors were a mahogany brown, the windows a glinting gold. A bed of vervain grew in the small garden, and the tall green grass looked as if it hadn't been trimmed in a while. Roy halted his horse abruptly, and he leaned to the animal's neck, his hands gripping the reins with a death grip, his muscles stiffened to a degree that almost felt as if they were going to explode. Without warning, he jumped off the horse and kicked the gates open, entering the house.

He opened the door, and light flooded into the quiet living room. "Riza! Riza! Are you here?"

Roy moved towards the hallway, and opened the rooms. He entered one and found a perfectly clean room, the bed still made. The only difference was that a cabinet was open and devoid of clothing. Exiting it, he turned to the other room, and felt his heart stop.

Sitting there, atop a round table by the window, with light bathing it in a warm glow, was a music box.

It was Riza's music box.

Softly, he moved towards it, not noticing the way his hand shook, or the way his breath seemed to come in pants. Every fiber of his being was shaking with anticipation and shock. Gently, he caressed the soft pink music box, with the hawk about to rise on it's lid. His fingers traced the contours of the box, closing his eyes in the process. He could almost feel her, hear her voice, feel her touch. The pain that gnawed at his heart was too much for him to bear. He missed her so much, so much that just touching what she had once touched gripped his heart in a painful despair.

A lone tear trickled down his closed eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly, it ran down his cheek and crashed unto the music box.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the minuscule puddle the tear had made. He watched as it ran along the depressions on the cover, tracing its surroundings. He could almost sense Riza's own living spirit inside the box.

Affectionately, he grasped the lid and opened it.

Memories swam in his mind as Roy vividly remembered every moment he had with her. They all flashed in his mind like a dazzling phantasmagoria, sundering him with a great avalanche of emotion.

"Sir, the house is empty." One of the two scouts announced, disrupting Roy's train of thought. He looked up from the box and nodded to the waiting man. Not even taking a second to think, Roy grabbed the music box, clutched it to his heart and ran outside the house. He placed the box inside a bag in the saddle and got up on the horse.

"We'll meet up with the rest. Pray they have better news." Roy said, already on the move, his voice cracking from the emotional outburst that had happened. He set his sight towards east, not knowing that a certain blonde lady was heading that way.

* * *

Elizabeth gazed at the tumbling waves of the blue-green sea, reveling in its serene beauty. The sea was truly beautiful, with the soaring winds that crashed softly against her and the warm shaft of light that embraced her with its golden glow. Through her gaze, she could see the fleeting land of Italy. She couldn't believe that she was saying goodbye to her home. Deep down, she realized that she was saying goodbye to Roy. The thought alone brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you alright?" A quiet voice broke through the silence of the morning, and she turned to see it was Jean. He was now dressed in his black coat, minus the hat. His blond hair swayed in the wind as he too stared into the rumbling waves.

"Do you have someone that you care for, Jean? Someone that you're willing to die for?" She asked, choosing to not answer his question. He stared out for a moment, and he looked at her with his deep azure eyes, and a sad smile on his face.

"Yes, I do. I'm willing to die for her, if it meant that she'd live to see another day." He responded, his voice husky and raw with an emotion that Elizabeth knew so well. "What about you, Elizabeth?"

She looked away from his eyes, not wanting him to see the ghosts of pain that lurked there, and instead watched a flock of birds fly overhead. The silence ensued, as the ship went on its course. As the moments passed, Italy became more distant until the water swallowed it all and she could only see the raging water.

"I do." She answered, unable to look at Jean. She took in a deep breath and calmed her self. This was no time to be weepy. She needed to be strong. Strong for what? She did not know, but she knew it by instinct. Placing a smile on her face, despite the emptiness in her, she turned to Jean. "I do, Jean."

He smiled, and when he looked away to check on the men, Elizabeth's smile ghosted away. Mustering enough courage, she placed the smile on her face again and spoke to Jean. "Tell me about her?"

"Of course." Jean answered. She noted the way his voice became earnest and affectionate. It reminded her of the times when she asked Roy about something that she did not know. When she had asked what a 'Cinderella' was, he had smiled and sat down on one of the palace benches, and had made her sit beside him as he told her of a fairytale about an abused girl finding love and happiness with a prince in an evening ball. Elizabeth realized now how similar her life was. The only difference was that her own story ended when midnight struck, and there was no prince looking for her.

"Her name is Delphine Rothernburg, and she's the most..." Jean shrugged, causing Elizabeth to smile knowing that such a woman could bring out such adoration from him. The way he shrugged, Elizabeth knew that he could not describe her in words. This Delphine was truly pluperfect if she could make a wonderful man like Jean so happy.

"I'm sorry, I can't just say she's beautiful without saying that she's also perfect, or saying she's smart without implying that she holds the knowledge of the world. For me, she's the only one. I can't think of anyone who'd be able to take her place." Jean said, every word full of raw emotion. She couldn't help but feel happy for him, for knowing that such a nice man had a nice woman made for him.

"I'm so happy for you, Jean." She spoke, happiness lacing her voice, happiness that she found in this little discovery in such a crowded and chaotic world. For everything that has happened to her, she dearly hope that Delphine will never break Jean's heart. She got the feeling that she could put her fears for her friend to rest eternally.

"Tell me about him." Jean said, repeating her own words. Her stomach lurched, and she bit back the urge to cringe. Instead, she brought up her mask and spoke as she stared out to the quiet sea.

"He's nice, caring and loves life as much as he loves being an egotistical bastard." She said, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her smile turned into a frown. "He's also someone with authority, someone that I could never have. Perhaps that was made for a reason. Maybe I am not the one for him, as he is the one for me."

She remembered the first time they met, when Roy had coldly sent her away, and knew then that it was doomed from the start. Her thoughts were broken when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder and saw that it was Jean, smiling at her with understanding.

"That may be, but there is also the possibility that you are the one for him." He said.

"That's too romantic, even for someone like you." Elizabeth teased. Jean chuckled before smiling again.

"Well, a certain woman whose name starts with a letter D changed me."

"Will I meet her someday, Jean?" Receiving a nod from him, she smiled. God bless the woman who made Jean, a friend she considered a brother, so happy.

There was silence for moments, with Jean lost in thought. Elizabeth used the quiet to push down thoughts of Roy away from her mind and focused on her present life now. Yet, before she could begin, Jean asked a question that froze the blood in her veins.

"It's Roy Mustang, isn't it?"

Her mind told her to not answer, to just keep quiet. But her heart denied her that choice. "Yes. Shall we go inside?"

His brow furrowed as he asked. "Inside? Why? It's beautiful outside."

"The weather is dreadful" She answered, knowing he could not fathom what she felt. She saw him look up to the clear blue sky.

"No, it's not."

When she had reached the door and opened it, she looked back at him.

"In my world, it's raining."

* * *

"Are you well, my lady?" A deep baritone voice asked, and Elizabeth turned to see a man who looked to be in his early thirties. He had milky white skin, and jet black hair combed back. But it was his eyes that told her that he was the type of person whose mind bordered on the edge of insanity. While Jean's eyes were a friendly deep azure, his were a cold arctic blue that seemed to calculate everything. His smile was not as warm as Jean's or Maes', it was cold and menacing.

It took a while for her to find her voice, and when she spoke, ice coursed through her words. "I am fine, thank you."

"Frank Archer, my lady." The man said, undeterred by her coldness. Having no choice but to act at least the part of the good-mannered woman, she held out a hand.

"Lady Elizabeth." He took it, and was surprised to find it warm with the essence of life. She half-expected it to be freezing with cold.

"Elizabeth...?" When he raised a brow, she had to restrain herself from curling her upper lip. It took a moment for her to realize that he was curious for a surname. Now that posed a problem, she never had surnames. She went by as Elizabeth, or Riza. Suddenly, the image of her music box appeared in her mind. Then came the thought that she had not seen it since yesterday.

"Hawkeye. Lady Elizabeth Hawkeye."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Hawkeye. I must say that your name is quite beautiful." When she noted that he had not let go of her hand, she firmly yet politely pulled it away. When she heard his words about her name, she bit her tongue to halt her mouth from saying _I must say that you belong with the maggots feasting on someone's festering carcass._

"Thank you, sir Archer." The smirk that appeared on his lips was not like the smirk Roy had. While Roy's was arrogant and endearing at the same time, Frank's was the sublime epitome of horrid lust. She did not like the way his cold arctic blue eyes traveled around her body, as if mentally undressing her. She regretted not bringing a knife, for she dearly wanted to slit the man's neck.

"If you excuse me, sir Archer, I must go. I need to retire to my quarters." She said in her icy voice, hoping that he got the message. He seemed to have for he stepped back, but didn't stop the way his eyes looked at her. He looked at her like she was just something to take and throw away. She felt rage boil inside her for his pathetic disregard for her humanity.

"Of course, Lady Hawkeye. I hope to see you again." He replied in his baritone voice that other women may seem alluring, but horrible to her ears. She turned away from him and continued her way down the hall, trying to look as if she was appreciating the carvings on the wood of the ship. All the while, she felt his gaze bore into her back. Roy had done the same thing, but his always made her feel nervously excited and jittery. But, when Frank was staring at her from behind, she had the urge to cover herself with a curtain or grab a gun and shoot him between the eyes. She'll have to ask Jean some time to teach her how to handle a gun, because after meeting Frank Archer, she was sure that she was going to need it.

She found her room and entered it, not forgetting to lock the door in the case the horrible imp Frank Archer may have followed her. She found her knapsack and opened it and to her horror, there was no music box.

So she stood there, looking at the bag that held only clothing. There was no sign of the pink and white box with the hawk on its cover. She would have rummaged through it but she knew that it wasn't there. It was back in Italy, and now, there was no going back. The last remnant of Roy was cut off from her, and gone like the dust in the wind.

Now, only her new life remained. Her past was now a ghost in the wind, the phantom unable to find her grave.

The phantom that, unbeknownst to her, Roy chases with full determination.

The phantom that evaded the world for years.

* * *

_AN: So, I'll just say that the ending was probably really weird. But I made it that way for two reasons: One, I use foreshadowing. That means that there is something in the ending that acts a clue for the continuing chapters. Two, I had another idea for another story. The ideas of stories always come to me at the most weird times. Anyway, reviews! And i recommend listening to We Are The Fallen, because they're the reason why I was able to get the inspiration for this chapter. Especially the songs "Sleep Well, My Angel", "St. John" and "Samhain"._


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: I survived the second week of school! Now, after my moment of revelry is over, I shall now continue with the story. I'd like to thank all those who reviewed (keep 'em coming!) and I'm wondering if anyone can suggest a title for the story that I am scheduled to write after the current stories. You all remember the story that I got in my mind after I watched Alice in Wonderland, right? If you do, then can you suggest a title for it. I already have mine, but I'm open to new titles that may be more interesting and appealing. The working title of the story is 'From Inside the Box' and I don't like. It feels like it belongs to a horror story, not a fantasy novel._

_And note, I do know that the chapter title is a musical duo. I love them._

* * *

Chapter 8: Nox Arcana

She stood by the shoreline, watching the dark tumbling waves lap against the sand. The dark grey fog slithered across the entire horizon, encompassing all in its murky darkness. She felt that if she just reached out a little bit, the icy black would lash out and swallow her whole. Instead, she just stood by the shore, eternally watching like a stone sentry, looking out for what would probably never come.

The silent night chilled her to the bone, and the cold wind that seemed to emanate from the darkness gave rise to bumps upon her skin. The feel of the grainy sand, the coarse and cool tiny wisps of matter beneath her bare feet. Her fingers shook with the cold, and her hair slightly rose at every puff of wind.

She turned, eyeing the darkness behind her. There was only the shore, the darkness atop it and the darkness behind her. She carefully gazed at the shifting darkness, wary of anything that could be behind it, or within it. The thought gave her a new set of chills.

The feeling that coursed inside her resembled the feeling of being chased by the Italian guards. There was something predatory, something vulturine with the darkness looming behind her like a snarling wolf ready to pounce and pick her clean.

She turned her gaze to the side, seeing the endless shoreline that went. Looking back at the darkness, she walked by the shoreline, finding in herself the belief that the shoreline would stop and the end will be in sight. No sooner had she made a good ten meters, she turned when she thought she heard something.

She looked at the darkness that swallowed the shoreline behind her. Even her footsteps in the sand disappeared as the darkness devoured it all. When nothing changed, or made itself appear, she continued on her way.

After a while, she stopped and turned back again. She was now sure that she heard something. It sounded like the rhythmic thud of someone walking on sand: dull, slow and the sound of sand against matter present. For a moment, she thought she was just hearing herself, but that thought was erased when she heard the sound again, this time stopping just as the darkness ate the seashore behind her.

"There is no use in hiding. I know you are there." She said, her voice taking an arctic edge. The dark, cold ice inside her had always been there. She never knew if it had ever disappeared, but now she knew that she was capable of such indifference.

When silence ensued, she continued on her way, but this time more careful. The claw of fear began to rise, crawling itself into her. She concentrated on her dark mood, and the way before her to halt the oncoming fear. She managed to keep it at bay, storing it if she needed the determination to run. Fear could be a disadvantage, causing most people to make less than rational decisions, but fear can also save a life if used and exerted properly.

The sound of something metallic, alongside the sound of someone walking, brought her to a stop. She turned against the darkness and marched into it, her sinister mood shrouding itself around her like an icy black vanguard. The terror inside her trailed on the heels of her baleful demeanor, making her a walking epitome of an angry Doom.

Even when the blackness swallowed her, she did not cringe. She stood her ground and glared all around. The sound of metal came near, this time just appearing at her side. She glared at the source of the sound, letting the cold ice in her show in her eyes.

"Riza?" She froze, hearing the name. Only one person knew that name of hers, and she recognized the voice. How could she forget that silken, singular voice that spoke with authority and charm at the same time?

"Roy?" She asked, fearing to believe that it was him. The sound came near, almost in front of her. His face, his handsome face entered her sight and her knees went weak. He was as handsome as she remembered a year ago. The onyx black hair that almost seemed to mingle with the darkness behind him was still the same, and the tanned skin he had contrasted beautifully. His straight, aristocratic nose was still so aristocratic, and his slanted eyes of shining black still penetrated the inside of her soul. There was the gentle smile that she always longed for, filling her heart with a new breath of life.

She raised her hands, reaching out to touch him. He came nearer and her fingers softly touched the strong and hardened muscles of his chest. She realized he was wearing black, and her eyes watered as she felt his hand, ever so gentle, close in around her in a loving embrace. He came so near that she was wrapped tightly against him with his arm, her heart repairing itself from when he broke it in that single action.

But, the happiness, the shock, the surprise of seeing him crashed into fear and horror as his handsome face contorted into a mask of full rage and he swung back. There was no time to scream, to push him back, to even fight him, as he brought a knife up and with a growl of hate from him, smashed it into her chest.

The fear paralyzed her, and numbed her to the pain. But it did not stop the pain that went into her soul. He had just killed her. Plain as day, Roy Mustang, the man that she loved with her whole heart, had just drove a knife into her, effectively staking her heart. She could feel the blood pour out of her mouth, the red liquid crawling down her skin. Her knees buckled from beneath her, and she fell to the ground, her blood continuing to escape from her.

All the while, she looked at him, into his coal eyes, his eyes that were now slits of pure hate. She had never thought that this would be the way she died. And as she drowned in her own blood, not even able to gasp a last breath, and her heart long dead, his eyes continued to shone with remorseless disgust. Her last dream, the dream that she had feared telling, the dream of dying in his arms, content and happy, had just been gorged by oblivion.

She felt the life go out from her, and her eyes stared dull at his face, so hateful, even in death.

"I love you. Always, and forever." She whispered, and life was gone.

* * *

Elizabeth woke from her sleep, the white linen sheets she was sleeping under crinkled into a mess within her tightly balled fists. Her breath came out in pants, unable to keep a steady rhythm to the beating of her heart. Sweat beaded her forehead and she felt her blond hair stick to her face, tickling it. The horrible image of a murderous Roy Mustang still fresh on her mind, Elizabeth was helpless to halt the coming fear and despondency that washed over her in rippling waves. Her form shook, even in the humid temperature of the sea, but not from cold, but from both horror and misery.

Needing to find comfort, she grasped around her bed for her bag. She rummaged through her things, looking for her music box. Unable to find it, she stood from her bed and began looking around the room. She opened drawers, looked beneath the bed and the cabinets, went into the toilet and even pulled up the mattress. Where did she put the music box? She silently cursed herself for forgetting where she placed it.

Then the thought came that she had left her music box in Italy. She cringed as she remembered how clumsy she was. How could she had ever forgot to pack it along? She had been to busy looking out for Gracia and Maes, not even bothering to look for it.

Knowing that there was food in the galley, Elizabeth clothed the black nightdress she wore with a crimson robe that fell to the floor in heaps. She tied the strings tightly, even the strings on her thigh area. She was always conservative, and detested being identified as a whore. The memory of a seething Grand Duchess Vittoria seared into her mind greatly, and she fought the urge to shiver.

Just in case the slime Frank Archer was awake, it wouldn't have been surprising at the least, she opened one of her drawers, and combed her hand underneath the dresses and fingered the polished metal of a knife. When she took it out, the nightmare played itself into her mind and she gasped as a tear fell from her eyes and unto the blade, dulling the image of her reflection.

Shaking her head in a way to forget, she wore her boots and slipped the knife into her right boot. The robe would have covered the handle, and it would be very easy to draw it up in case of need or danger. Satisfied, she quietly opened her door and slipped out into the dark hallway, the moon apparent in the ship's massive glassed windows. She made her way down the stairs located close by her room, and slowly entered the kitchens.

When she entered, she did not expect a candle to burn brightly on top of a table. Nor did she expect to see the Emperor sitting on a stool, drinking from a demitasse. He was dressed in normal robes, apparently having woken from sleep. The black garments he wore reminded her of Roy and that brought shivers. Probably having noticed her in the candle light, the Emperor turned to her, surprise written on his face.

"Elizabeth! What are you doing awake?" He asked in a stern voice. She could feel her face flushing with discomfiture.

"Pardon, Your Majesty, but I could not sleep." He looked genuinely stricken when she addressed him by his title, but she deduced it as her mind playing tricks with the small light.

"Your Majesty? Whatever happened to Alexander?"

"But you're the Emperor! I shouldn't address you by your God-given name."

The Emperor looked sadly amused. "Really? Then, by decree of the Czar of Russia, in the name of the Crown and the Throne, I order you to address me by my God-given name."

She could feel the blood rushing to her face in torrents. "But-!"

Alexander raised an eye brow. "Is that a violation? Are you willing to be imprisoned and sanctioned for disregarding the command of the Czar?"

A part of Elizabeth wanted to pull out the knife and give him something to be threatened about, until she remembered that she was talking about the Emperor, a man who commanded millions. Suddenly, she felt so tiny.

"If that is your command, Alexander." She managed to keep the irritation from her voice, and was quite delighted to see an annoyed expression on his face.

"Sit, my dear." She obeyed and came near. Elizabeth took a seat opposite his, her eyes staring at the bright candle. She did not speak. All she did was stare at the flame of the candle, her mind in a crash of chaos. The darkness rearing around her reminded her of the black night that engulfed her in her nightmare, and Elizabeth felt a new wave of shivers rise.

"Are you alright?" She looked up into Alexander's deep brown eyes filled with concern, and she had the urge to confess everything. Instead, she held it back and placed a fake smile on her face. The way his brow twitched alerted Elizabeth that he was doubting the sincerity in her smile.

"Yes, I am. I have never felt any better." She replied, mentally applauding herself at her great impersonation of a happy person.

"Then, if you really are well, why would you be lurking in the galley in the dark?"

The question caught her off-guard, and she had a difficult time making up her mind. She looked away from his penetrating gaze and glanced at the dark hallway. She regretted when, for just a split-second, an image of Roy drawing a knife appeared and a gasp escaped her lips.

When she saw Alexander stand in surprise from her peripheral vision, Elizabeth swiftly drew up her mask and faced him. His brown eyes blazed with concern, and he looked on the verge of alarm. Seeing that she was alright, he visibly lightened, but his eyes were still burning.

"Now, tell me. Are you really alright?" He asked, his voice heating with concern and a bit of irritation.

"Yes." She lied. Even when in her heart, she felt that the darkness had finally shut her out. She desperately wanted to cry, but not in front of someone. Instead, she let her inside self cry in silent agony while her face kept the mask of happiness. Elizabeth wanted to retain what little dignity she had left.

"You did not answer my question." Alexander said.

"Yes, I did. I said I'm fine."

"I meant about you lurking in the dark."

"Oh, that question."

He raised a brow. "Yes, that question."

"I couldn't sleep, so I figured that I could walk around the ship to clear my head."

Elizabeth looked away from his brown eyes, and stared at the white candle. It was there that she noticed the gleaming locket that he wore. She hadn't seen it because it was covered by his coat, but when he had stood, the cloth fell away and a shining silver locket that resembled a heart appeared before her eyes.

"And why couldn't you sleep?" She would have chosen not to answer, but Alexander always had a way of making her do the opposite.

"I had a nightmare." She answered, trying to not look at the dark.

"Tell me?" She froze, but she nodded slowly.

"I was in a shoreline. But it wasn't bright and sunny. It was dark and the darkness seemed to envelope the whole shoreline. In the darkness, a man came out and killed me." She preferred to summarize it than say everything, especially when the man was Roy, as seeing that it would probably wreck her control. There was no way that she'd break down in front of Alexander.

In the candlelight, she saw the shining silver locket move and when she looked up, Alexander had pulled it off him and held it out to her. He held it out to her in a callous hand, and knowing what he wanted her to do, she took it in her hands, her eyes skimming the plain looking heart-shaped locket.

"In a time so long ago, a beautiful water goddess rose from the seas and went to the lands." Alexander began, making Elizabeth knew that he was telling a story. "She was very beautiful, with hair as gold as the sun and eyes as warm as the color of amber and skin as glowing as porcelain, but when she went out of the water, her skin would turn blue like the sea, her eyes would transform into black orbs that resembled the murky depths and her golden hair would change into sapphirine. When she went to land, people were scared of her and they chased her away with sticks and spears and promises of death. They believed she was a monster come to devour them."

Now engrossed with the tale, she asked. "What happened to her?"

He interlaced the fingers of his hands together and he pondered quietly. "Unable to come to land, she stayed by the shoreline, alone and longing to be free of her sea prison. One day, while she sat by the rocks and sand, a young man passed by. He wore silks and fur and crepe de Chine, and he was very handsome with his black hair and dark eyes. There, she met him and she knew that she was in love with him the moment she saw him."

"Did the man fall in love with her, too?" She asked, not noticing the characters of the tale greatly resembled her and Roy.

"He did, the moment he saw her. He thought she was the most sublime creature to walk the land, and he fell to his knees in supplication of his love for her. For days on end, they would talk. The man would sit by the rocks and the young water goddess would be by the waves lapping against the boulders. At times, they would make love upon the sea as it crashed against them upon the sand. The water goddess was so happy." He paused as he gazed at the locket in her hands with a knowing look.

"But it didn't last, didn't it?" He shook his head.

"One day, the man proposed to the water goddess. She was very happy and she accepted the proposal, forgetting that she was forever chained to her prison of water. When the man took her hand and pulled her out of the sea so that she'd meet his parents, her form began to change, and the beautiful goddess transformed into the cool personification of the deep seas."

She felt it coming, way before Alexander said the words.

"The man was horrified and disgusted with her. He told her that she was an abomination and that he will not have anything to do with her. He ran away from the broken-hearted goddess, and didn't even look back. The water goddess, having finally lost all hope, returned to the sea, weeping. She was swallowed by the waves, her tears mingling with the water, as she returned to the place where she belonged. In the abysmal trenches of the deep."

His voice turned sad and distant as he went on. "She had led herself to believe that she could be so happy, only to see it end before her eyes."

"What happened to the man?"

"For many months, the man went about, cavorting with every woman he could get his hands on. It was when he met a courtesan with yellow hair and amber eyes that reminded him so much of the water goddess, and he finally realized that all he had said to her after finding out about her true form was all lies. He didn't think she was an abomination, he thought that she was perfect beyond measure. Despairing and with pain in his heart for causing the water goddess so much pain, he returned to the beach. He saw no sign of the water goddess, and even as he screamed her name and his love for her, she didn't come back."

"Slowly, the man wept on the wet sand, his tears unending. Rain came and went, followed by day, but he did not leave, nor did his weeping end. He grew sick and tired and frail, until one night, he felt death coming to him, alongside the tears. With his last breath, he called out her name and said that he was sorry and that he loved her so much that he'd wait for her in the underworld. And the man died, alone and broken-hearted, just like the way he left the water goddess."

Alexander smiled in pity. "He never realized that all the while, the water goddess had cried herself to sleep underneath the waves. It was her sister, the goddess of wind, that brought the man's words under the tumbling wall of the sea. In her haste, she rose from the dark waves and wailed as she gazed at the dead body of her lover. His face was in a mask of despair, and the goddess' own tears fell unto it, covering them with her sapphire sadness. Screaming in agony and pain, the goddess called on the waves and she embraced the man's dead body as colossal sheets of water, as high as a thousand meters, came and crashed unto the beach, covering it in a blanket of sea. The water receded, and the man's body disappeared, leaving only a small sapphire in its place."

He gestured to the locket, and Elizabeth opened it. There, lying in the middle, was a small sapphire, shining in the candlelight. Orange light danced off its smooth surface, and her eyes trailed over its clear blue glow.

"What was her name?" She knew that Alexander had an idea who she was referring to.

"The water goddess was named Elizabeth."

* * *

_AN: I hope you all like the way Alexander comforted Riza in her time of need. I made up the story of the water goddess and I hoped you also liked it. Thanks for reading, and please review!_


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: So, I'm trying to bring my story back on track, so I'll try to squeeze this chapter in between a really mind-boggling project and a very irritating platoon. Anyway, thanks to all those that reviewed. I really loved the feedback, and I hope that it won't end. Lately, I have been reading a lot of stories on FictionPress, so I hope that holy water of inspiration didn't run out. Seeing that you're probably bored by now, let's go on to the ninth chapter!_

_Deathcrest_

* * *

Chapter 9: An Ode to Sorrow, An Ode to Joy and the Canon in D Minor

In the distance, the shining city seemed like a faint El Dorado. The intense light of the sun seemed to shadow the land not too far away from ship, like a celestial barrier that prevented the passage of human taint. The waves that sputtered sporadically across the blue-green sea almost acted like a wall of soldiers, fending the ship from the territories of the golden city. Even the wind was against the ship, as it blew against it in great gusts that made Elizabeth's blond tresses fly back. But the ship was formidable, and it was not deterred even by the force of the elements of nature.

She heard the sounds of men working on the ship, some of them cussing when something was not right or one of them got hurt. Occasionally, she heard the voice of an officer giving out orders, but she did not mind them. Her thoughts were on the nearing city. Barcelona, Jean and Alexander had called it.

She remembered asking Alexander where they were headed, and he lengthily explained the Kingdom of Spain, its provinces of Aragon, Castile-Leon and the such, and the many cities and towns that dot the country. She recalled him telling her about the city of Barcelona, and the many things of their culture that always amazed her. When he brought a book from his bed chambers, Elizabeth remembered smiling at the many wonders of the Spanish Kingdom.

She turned away from the raging waters, and observed the upper deck of the ship. Men hurried around as they tried to gain control of the ship. Officers, in smart uniforms, gave orders as they too observed the work of the men.

While watching the men, Elizabeth spotted Maes among them. He waved a hand in her direction, and she waved back. She waited as he made his way to her through the people, often sidestepping some. The wind ruffled his raven black hair, the light glinting off his glasses. There was a smile on his face, a smile she was familiar with, a smile she used to wear.

After the many things that happened, it still continued to amaze Elizabeth that Maes still stood by their side. Her mind told her that he was there for Gracia, and that was more than enough for her, but her heart countered, believing that even if he was not in love with the former cook, he would still be with them. That feeling gave her a renewed sense of hope for whatever was happening to them right now.

Still, somewhere inside her felt guilty about dragging the people she cherished into her problems. Had she known that this cascade of event would occur the moment she stepped out into the wilderness beyond the gates of the Citta della Quattro Santa, she would have rather hid in the city than destroy the stability of the lives of Maes, Gracia, Jean and Alexander. It didn't even relieve the guilt when she found out that Maes and Gracia were getting married, yet because of her, it was now left in the darkness. Though they pretended to not mention it, she could see that both were disappointed about not getting married immediately.

She sighed sadly, wanting so much for them to be happy, but not knowing how.

"Jean informed me that we'd probably arrive in Barcelona in an hour. An entourage will be there, waiting to escort us to the Czar's residential manor." Maes said when he reached her, looking beyond the sea. Somewhere in the distance, an albatross cried out for its mate.

For a moment, they just stood there. As the moment crawled so slowly, Elizabeth felt the tension, the roaring questions unanswered in Maes. He wanted to know what was going on, what was the reason why he couldn't marry Gracia and she knew that the answer was in her. The answer was her.

"Elizabeth..." He began, but she cut him off.

"Not now, Maes. Please, I ask of you, not now..." She could see that her words had hit him hard, and it ached her heart to do this to Maes, someone who reminded her so much of Roy. Why did it always have to be Roy? Sometimes, she asked if even in death, she'd still be thinking about Roy. The thought scared her, but it was true, nonetheless. He was her first and only love, and she knew that it all ended long ago. Somehow, it seemed to be years, not months, since she had last seen Roy.

"Riza..." Maes continued, not backing down an inch.

"Maes, please..."

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts you, but please tell me, Riza!" His words echoed in her mind, dulling her past thoughts.

"Give me some time, that's all I ask." She muttered, the words repeating itself in her mind, getting louder by the second.

"Riza, think of Gracia! Think of me! Think of our coming marriage that was stopped!" Maes said in a higher voice. Elizabeth felt the world closing upon her.

"I can't, Maes. Give me some time!" She answered softly, but he did not seem to hear her. The pain, the hurt was boiling inside him, and she did not know how to calm that raging storm. Why was Maes being so unreasonable? Why couldn't he let her think? Images of Roy stabbing her flashed in her mind, momentarily freezing her. Maes did not take notice of the way her face paled, or the way her arms began to tremble.

"Why can't you just think about somebody else, and not just yourself? I can't sleep at night, fearing that someone would break into our cabin and slaughter us! Telling me would really be great help!" He bellowed, his voice maximizing by the second. Tears began to form in her eyes.

"Please, just let me think."

"I was going to be married to the love of my life, and then you and those Russian guards of yours came barging inside our house, yapping about detainment and torture! I believe you owe me at least a simple explanation, Riza!" He shouted.

"I don't know!" She screamed, the tears dripping. Her voice was hoarse and the sobs threatened to consume her, but she remained strong. She stubbornly wiped the tears away with her balled fists.

"I don't know, alright! I'm sorry that I got you into this mess, and I'm sorry that you couldn't be married to Gracia! I'm sorry for dragging you into this, and I'm sorry that I can't give you better answers!" Every word that passed through her lips were the pain and sorrow that had bottled inside her for the past days.

"I..." Maes was speechless, and the shock of realizing what he had just done staggered him.

"I'm sorry that all of you have to be part of the mess that is my life! Believe me when I say that I didn't want this to happen! I didn't want to be the reason for your problems, but somehow I just am! Do you think I like dragging people into this mess? I don't!"

It suddenly occurred to her that everything was silent, and the men of the ship had stopped working to stare at them. The wind continued to pass, undeterred by their argument. Still, she stood there staring into the distance, breathing heavily.

"Riza..." Maes began to say, his voice ever so remorseful.

"Quiet." She answered, in a cold voice. She needed to do something, something to take her mind away from the pain. Without ceremony, she hurriedly walked away from Maes, ignoring the stare of the people, and went below deck and into her cabin.

She wanted to be alone.

* * *

Elizabeth did not give a second glance to the people she bumped on the way to her cabin. Whether the person be the cook, one of the staff, an officer, or even when the person was an aristocrat. All she could think of was running to her room and gaining back her strength. She had not meant to scream at Maes, and the things he said did not hurt or anger her personally in any way. All he said was true, in the first place.

It was the fact that it was true, and it hurt, that she got angry.

Her mind elsewhere, Elizabeth did not realize she had ran into someone until she tripped and almost fell. She looked down and saw a boy, around the age of fourteen, with a long mane of blond hair and penetrating tawny eyes. His face was set into an expression of shock bordering on irritation, until he realized who he encountered. The boy, too young to be a soldier, stepped back and bowed.

"Forgive me, milady." His words were polite, but she noticed that it was quite practiced and feeling-less. Only then, when he bowed and the red cloak he wore moved, did she see the silver revolver hanging by his belt. It wasn't the fact that the boy was carrying a revolver that stunned her, rather, it was the symbolism behind it.

In that weapon, she saw the bitterness and the reluctance to carry arms yet forced to take it all the same. There, in those ancient tawny eyes, she saw what the boy should not have seen, or experienced. He was still in the chrysalis stage of puberty, still free to run across fields, hide behind mothers and dream of being a king someday. Yet, he had to grow up, to mature, to lose the child within and become a man in so little time. Nothing, she thought, could have prepared him for the savage world that waited just beyond the doors of the ship.

"It's alright. It was my fault anyhow." She replied, smiling down at him. The boy's eyes widened a bit, probably shocked by her warmth. "What is your name, young man?"

"Edward, milady." He replied in a small voice, his eyes averting hers.

"And do you have a mother, dear Edward?"

She was surprised, to say the least, of the cold edge in the boy's voice. "She's dead."

A smile softened her face when she saw tears pool at the edge of his eyes. She understood the bitterness he carried. Elizabeth had, after all, felt it all her life. She, too, may had the chance to live free if the person who gave birth to her ever cared. If that woman who had carried her for nine months, fed and nourished her for almost a year and gave birth to her, ever gave an ounce of compassion, then she would not have had to work as a servant in order to eat and clothe herself.

But, if it wasn't for that, she would not have met Roy. It may have took most of her life, but it was worth it. To be able to feel life after what seemed an eternity's worth of suppression was a gift that not even all the riches in the world could have surmounted.

"I am so sorry, Edward, but this is a difficult world we exist in. We have every right to grieve and mourn the passing of those we cherish, but we need to move on. Life cannot be spent pining for what is now lost, young man." She laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder, smiling at him.

For that moment, they stayed quiet. Two people, both having felt the dark thorns of existence, sharing a singular source of comfort in what is to come. Then, with the passing of a second, Elizabeth moved away, now more calm and tranquil. "Look towards the new horizon, Edward, and place your mark upon that shining distance. Let the dark past that you had once lived be a motivation to create a better future for you and your loved ones."

She left Edward with a great lesson, a lesson she wholly believed in. To be able to help even just one person meant the world to her. Elizabeth left, feeling more and more at peace with herself than she had ever been.

* * *

Roy plodded his way to his room, dismissing the servants that went out of their way to lighten his mood. On a normal day, he would have accepted the offers of service without pause. But this was not a normal day; he could no longer recall the last time he had a normal day. All he could think about was the failure of the search for Riza.

How long will he have to look for her, to be able to see her, hold her, love her again? He had set every runner and search party, but still no sign of the woman he loved. He even went as far as sending a message to the neighbouring countries, asking for their help. Still, no trace of her.

It was as if she had vanished into the pages of history, leaving a music box as proof of her existence. It was depressing and maddening, but he knew that it was all his fault. After all, he was the man who broke her heart and sent her away. He was responsible for that, and if, one day, he found her, he would do everything in his power to right his mistakes. All this, he would do for her. If only she would give him a sign, a sign to tell him that she's still there.

Even if she did not love him anymore, he would still be there. Even if she despised him, he would not care. Just as long as Riza was safe and alright, he would go to Hell for her and back.

Time passed and he reached his room. The moment he sat on his quilt bed, the pain, sorrow and frustration came together and he sucked back a sob that threatened to overcome him. The tears fell from his eyes and he did not do anything to stop them. He laid on his bed, not moving to change out of his clothes, and closed his eyes. He thought of every beautiful moment he had with Riza, and he would gladly live them every second of his life.

With her face in mind, he fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Slowly, she opened the doors to her son's room and glanced in. There he lay, asleep, his travelling clothes still on him. Her heart ached with the pain of knowing how much the woman he was searching for meant to him, and that she, his mother, had made that woman's last days in her home the most horrible. Quietly, Vittoria swept in, her sorrowful black trail of a dress sliding in behind her, like a funereal omen of impending disaster. She raised her hand and caressed her son's cheek.

"I am so sorry, my dear. If only I could have made everything so much better." She whispered in-between the hitches of her mourning voice.

Roy was her child, and she wanted him to be happy. She realized that politics and power and grand balls did not make him happy. Nor did the coming of conceited young women and the promises of great authority. It still astounded her as to how a simple maiden made her son fall in love with her. People were indeed mysterious, but she would gladly condone that, if it meant that Roy's future happiness will be secured. She would, without the slightest hesitation, take back Elizabeth. Vittoria finally realized her errors.

Elizabeth was truly for Roy, and there was nothing and no one that could alter that.

She bent down and kissed Roy on the forehead, and like the shadow, left the room, looking back only once. When the doors finally closed, and lock in place, did she disappear into the quiet hallways of the palace.

Morning was still coming, and with its advent, so was the Duchess. Roy would need all the help he could get. If he could not find Elizabeth before the ravages of life does, then there would be nothing for Roy to live for. Vittoria shuddered at the thought.

In the background, the cathedral had just began to play Pachelbel's _Canon in D Minor_.

* * *

_AN: Damn it! I'm so sorry that it took a long time to post this. School was being an asshole, and the projects were coming like a storm. I hope you all still like me, and if you don't, then I understand. I currently don't like me either. So, here's chapter 9 and please, review! T.T_


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Sorry this chapter got late in publishing. I was busy studying for a college admission test, and it covered around a few weeks. Plus, being a model student is like being tortured, minus the physical injuries. So sad._

* * *

Chapter 10: Le Abadesa de Santa Juana de Arco

Isabella glanced at the docked ship from her place high up the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco, caressing the small gold crucifix that was hanging from her neck by a fine gold chain. Slowly, she moved closer to the stone windowsill, her black habit lifting from the soft quiet breeze. Squinting her sapphirine eyes, she glanced at the grey ship with a mixture of resignation and curiousity.

"_Buenos dias_, Mistress." Isabella looked away from the ship to glance at the young nun who had greeted her. The girl was still in the chrysalis stage of womanhood, her fair complexion still unblemished by age and her green eyes wide with the wonders of the world outside. In her hands, she held a silver crucifix. There was a smile of excitement on her face, and the black habit she too wore also lifted at another breeze. In return, Isabella smiled.

"Good day to you too, Sister Dalia."

"If I may ask, Mistress, what are you looking at?" Isabella lifted her hand, the dark cloth of the habit lifting as well, and pointed outside, towards the massive grey ship. Dalia came closer, her light footsteps echoing in the quiet church balconies. Once she had stood next to her, Isabella spoke out in a quiet voice.

"See there, that enormous battle ship that had just docked? An old and dear friend of mine has traveled here."

"A dear old friend? Who is it, Mistress?" Then, Dalia's face of curiosity turned a slight shade of red. "Is it an old lover from before the vows? Has he come to steal you away from our convent, dear Mother?"

Isabella laughed at Dalia's preposterous notions. "No. He's...more of a paterfamilias. He helped me when I had a few...problems from before I took the habit of the nun."

"I see."

The easy silence that came gave way to the choir music from below, enchanting the quiet stillness of the church. Multicolored light came from stained window panes, illuminating the upper balconies with an inundation of hues; from claret to viridian to amethyst. The music of the Salve Regina continued to travel upwards, decorating the scenery with a holistic touch of sanctity.

"Dalia, I have a favor to ask of you." Isabella began, her sapphirine eyes on the grey ship. Dalia moved from the side, and whispered.

"What is it, Mistress?"

"I shall divulge it, but first, follow me." And with that, Isabella turned and descended from the balconies, Dalia close on her heels. Together, they came down and passed the choir. Turning, Isabella entered a hallway decorated with large and ancient paintings of saints and angels. She continued to walk to her destination, her soft footsteps in contrast with Dalia's march-like strut. As they continued, the paintings of Saints Veronica, Peter, Michael, John, Thomas, Sebastian, Agnes, Maria and others stared at them with calm and kind eyes.

They came up stairs, and passed several nuns on the way. Once, they crossed by the statue of the Virgin Mary and entered a crimson colored antechamber. Once they exited it, they came face-to-face with a large door.

Isabella pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Pushing it, Isabella gestured for Dalia to follow her as she entered. Looking around her room, Isabella spotted a neat looking bed to the side, and table in the center for writing and reading. On top of the table were neatly stacked pieces of paper, and quills and pens and pencils were grouped together in a small cup. A small crucifix stood on the side of the table, next to Isabella's Bible.

She came to her table, and searched through the stacked papers. She turned away papers of report, papers that denoted the activities inside the church. Finally, she found a small envelope, with the letters "E.I.R." written on the top. Holding it in her hands solemnly, she turned to Dalia, whose eyes were on the envelope in her hands.

"Sister, this is something of the utmost importance." Dalia's eyes rose to meet hers. "I can only entrust this mission to one of my most trusted members of my entourage. That member is you, Dalia."

"What? I don't understand, Mistress."

"What is in this parchment controls the fate of a great many lands. If this is opened in a time not yet of its appositeness, it can cause great devastation."

"Reverend Mother, you're frightening me." Dalia whispered, her blue eyes wide with fear.

Isabella smiled kindly. "I know I am, but will you do what I shall ask of you anyway?"

Dalia swallowed, and spoke in a clear voice. "When I was in the streets of Madrid, hungry and cold and alone, you took me in. You fed me and clothed me and sheltered me from evil. Then, you guided me to Our Lord to find complete happiness. Mistress, just command it and I will do it without hesitation."

"Thank you, my child." Isabella answered, her misty sapphirine eyes tearing up.

"What is it that you ask of me, mother?"

Isabella held the envelope for Dalia to take it. Slowly, she raised her hand and took the brown envelope. "Dalia, I want you to go to the ship I showed you a while ago and I want you to look for a man named Alexander. Do not let anyone stop you from finding him. If you do find him, just say my name. He will answer you in a way that I do not know, but rest assured that it is a sign for you to give him the envelope that you hold now."

Dalia looked at her with a blank, impassive face. She nodded. "I shall do with haste, Mistress."

"Do not fail me, Dalia. May the Lord illuminate your path."

The sun was glaring hotly as the complete entourage of the Russian Czar descended the Pyotr Velikiy, followed closely by the Imperial Escort. Elizabeth shielded her eyes with her hand, as the bright light continued to wear them down the moment they left the comfort of the roofs. In the blasting heat, she eyed Jean and his men as they flanked the Emperor as he was led down. Alexander was in clothed blue and gold and a number of servants held a large canopy above to shield the Czar from the heat. Maes and Gracia followed Alexander and his entourage, both under a canopy. Soon followed Archer, wearing a bright red coat over an immaculate white shirt, and his personal attendants. When Archer looked to her and smiled libidinously, Elizabeth felt the urge to grab the knife in her boot and decorate his lewd face with bloody wounds.

Looking away, Elizabeth felt her thick mane of blond hair stick to her neck as the heat made her hot. Sweat began to trickle down her back and armpits underneath the silver-gray dress she wore. Even her palms were sweating underneath the fabric of her gloves. Only when she made contact with Spanish soil, did she move behind Gracia and Maes and rejoiced as the heat was blocked by the canopy. She wasted no time in taking a kerchief from her dress pocket and wiped her face with it.

"Your Majesty, shall we proceed to the carriage?" Jean asked, looking over the carriages that were prepared for their arrival. Alexander shook his head, his dark brown eyes on something in the distance.

"Not yet, Jean. I'm waiting for someone." Curious, Elizabeth looked towards the distance. She could see Spanish styled houses, alongside buildings in grey and brown and even the occasional _cabeza de barangay_. Further behind was a large church, shielded by mountains and trees. Still, she searched for who Alexander was waiting for. Then, she caught sight of a figure in black.

The figure was dressed in black, head-to-toe, aside from the white cloth around her head. Elizabeth noted that the figure was a woman. A silver chain that held a crucifix hung by her neck.

She was a nun.

Suddenly, the nun stopped, as if looking for something. When she caught sight of them, she headed their way. It seemed that she was unfazed by the imposing ship and the troops that surrounded them. When she got close enough, Jean stepped forward.

"_Qui n es usted_?" Jean spoke, and Elizabeth realized that he was speaking in Castilian Spanish. She was shocked by how fluid it seemed to flow from his lips. However, she did wonder what he had just said.

"He was asking 'Who are you?'." A deep voice said, and Elizabeth turned, to her horror, that it was Frank Archer who had spoken. She slowly edged away from him as she glared and said, in an imperiously cold voice. "I do not recall asking you, sir Archer."

Frank Archer returned the glare in kind, though his was more menacing than hers. In those cold blue eyes were a tinge of madness. "It is quite impolite and uncivilized for a lady to use that tone with a gentleman, Lady Hawkeye. That can be perceived as rude at best, and hostile at worst."

Elizabeth harrumphed loudly. "Whichever you may choose to perceive it as, sir Archer, the intent is still the same."

His glare had faded, but his cunning, deceitful smile replaced it. Which would give her nightmares, his glare or his smile, she did not know. Instead of paying him attention, she turned back to the nun and Jean.

"_No importa qui n soy. Estoy aqu buscando un hombre llamado Alexander._" The nun said, her own Castilian intonation in league with Jean's. The more words she spoke, the more confused Elizabeth got.

"She's saying 'It matters not who I am. I am here looking for a man named Alexander'." Frank Archer supplied, giving Elizabeth a stepping stone to go on. Grudgingly, she thanked him. He smiled his lewd smile at her.

Suddenly, it hit her. The nun was looking for Alexander. She could see Jean tense, and his men finger their weapon. However, Alexander was quite calm. He spoke in Russian to Jean, and then said, in a Russian-intonated Italian. "I am Alexander. To what do I owe this meeting?"

"E.I.R." Was all the nun said. And it seemed that it was everything at the same time, for Alexander suddenly replied, in a dark and grave tone. "Isabella de Saint-Clair."

The nun held out a small envelope, and her piercing blue eyes locked with Alexander's. When Alexander caught it, she turned on her heel and walked away. In a moment, she was gone from the area and all that was left of her was the parchment Alexander was holding. He looked away from the envelope and stared at the church from within the mountains.

He opened the envelope, read the message inside and crumpled it in his palm. Instead of giving it to the attendant, he pocketed it and turned to them and spoke in Italian. "The Abbess of the Church of Saint Jeanne D'Arc wishes a meeting with us. We shall depart for the monastery immediately."

* * *

Isabella rose from her desk, full of papers, when a nun entered her room and bowed. It was just Sister Marianna.

"Mistress, the Czar and his entourage has just arrived. I have directed them to the parlor in the Gardens, where they are awaiting your presence."

"Thank you, Marianna." Marianna bowed, her dark blue eyes closing and left the room, her black habit trailing away.

When the nun had disappeared, Isabella lowered the blade in behind her and placed it inside the desk drawer. In a way, she felt guilty to have almost brought a weapon out in the open, and on a sister of the cloth, too. But, this world was not as idyllic as people believe it is. Even people of faith like her carried weapons.

As she stepped out of her room, locked the door and proceeded to the Gardens, Isabella held on to the lie she had been forced to take: the lie of being a person of faith.

She turned down a hallway, and was greeted by an open exit that led to the monastery Gardens. Once she was outside, she made her way to the parlor that was shielded by thick lines of trees. As she came closer, the dazzling beauty of the many flowers empowered her. Even the small stream by the side giggled marvelously as she went to her business. To her side, the large statue of St. Joan of Arc, wielding a sword high and a mighty banner of the Kingdom of Heaven, surveyed her quietly, as if assessing the judgement to be imposed upon her for things and lies she had done. Crepuscular rays of sunlight poured through the spaces in the statue, illuminating her path.

As she finally placed herself in front of the parlor doors, she took in a deep breath. This was it.

She had finally kept it a secret for too long. Now, she will have to reveal her true nature: her nature as royalty.

* * *

_AN: Dun dun dun dun! Anyway, I hope y'all like this chapter. See you next time!_


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: I'm saying sorry again for updating late. Surprisingly, I do not have anything else to say. Must be tongue-tied._

* * *

Chapter 11: Deliver Us from Evil

_Vittoria watched as the whore Leonora entered the execution room, dressed in the scarlet robes. The light fell in harmony against her and her dark robes, illuminating her like a brightened statue. She felt her cheeks burn with anger at the sight of her, more so at the fact that Leonora wore the color that Christian martyrs had worn at the time of their deaths. She was not fit to wear those kinds of robes. Those kinds of robes were meant to signify the suffering and the agony the martyrs had endured for their professed faith. Now, it was being polluted by the skin and the spirit of a demonically monstrous woman. Her green eyes flashing with anger, she glared at the woman as she made her way to the center of the block, where stood the noose on which the whore shall die._

_The court sat on the benches set for them by the side, looking solemnly at Leonora, their faces grim and set._

_"Leonora Eustacia, by the decree of His Highness, Prince Roy de Mustang, Prince of Milan, Rome and Florence, and Duke of Florence, you are hereby sentenced, in the name of God and His congregation, to hang by the neck until dead." The head judge, who was dressed in black and sat among the members of her husband's court, announced into the silent room. Leonora responded by raising her head high, and speaking out, in a condescending voice._

_"I, Leonora Eustacia, accept thy punishment as decreed not by mortal man, but by God Himself."_

_Her hands fisting at her sides, Vittoria had to restrain herself from standing and ordering the guards to rip her clothes apart and shame her for what she really is. Instead, a soft warm hand covered hers, and she turned to see the concerned gaze of her husband, Leonardo. In that instant, all her anger faded away and she smiled gratefully at him. She was rewarded by his handsome smile, his smile that always soothed, and calmed and made her feel so peaceful. Roy had inherited that same smile/_

_"It will be alright, Vittoria." He said, his dark eyes twinkling. Leonardo always managed to make her feel better._

_"I know, my love."_

_With that, she turned back her gaze towards Leonora. The anger, rage and hate came back, slowly, but she locked them out with her commitment to justice. All else evanesced into nothing, as she gazed into the eyes of the woman before._

_This woman was once her most trusted handmaidens, but now, she had shown herself for what she really is. In that instance, Vittorio sought the internal, awakening power of justice that has always been inside her. She removed all barriers, all emotion as she let herself drown into the ultimate truth._

_She let her full commitment take over. Not even a single emotion touched her stone-like face. She became the bearer of justice._

_"Place the noose." Vittoria called out, in a cold, imperious voice. The executioner moved to follow her bidding, no questions asked. All the while, she stared into the green eyes of the woman in front of her. In those eyes, she saw fear masked by arrogance. Vittoria did not care._

_"Tighten it." She watched as the noose around Leonora's neck was tightened. The executioner moved to the side, where the lever to the trap door beneath Leonora stood. He placed a hand on the lever, and then turned to the Grand Duke._

_Leonardo looked to her, the question in his eyes. She looked into his, memorizing every trace of his dark eyes. If, one day, God shall punish her for what she was about to do, then at least let her have the memory of her husband and his love for her in that cold damnation._

_She nodded, and turned to Leonora. "By decree of the law, do you, Leonora Eustacia, have any last statements before the execution begins?"_

_Leonora, when she spoke, was no longer arrogant. She was now afraid. Afraid of what may happen to her after death. Vittoria could see the fear dance in her eyes, the tears begging to fall. Yet, that no longer mattered. Everything was now set into frame. No matter what Leonora may have to say, the decision is final. She will be hung._

_The silence was oppressive with the impending doom of death. In that silence, Leonora spoke in a hushed voice. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation..."_

_Vittoria nodded, and the lever was pulled. The trap door gave way._

_She watched, detachedly, as Leonora's body stiffened as it fell but was held back by the noose. For one single space of time, she was at shock at what was to become of her. Then, she began crawling back to life. Vittoria watched as Leonora began to shake and fight for air as she was hung. She watched as she clawed at the cloth around her neck, struggling to break free and live. Her cries of agony and terror drowned into gurgling, probably from the saliva and blood that bubbled in her throat. Her green eyes rolled manically, looking for help. Leonora's face was red with the need to breathe, and it was slowly turning blue with death._

_Vittoria could see that all her muscles were rigid with the need for air. People say that hanging was quick, but they were wrong. It was a slow process of agony until death. It was like drowning, it wasn't pleasant. The shock of losing air in a heartbeat was painful to the body, almost like being crushed by a large rock. She deduced this as bloody scratch marks arose from where Leonora's fingernails clawed. Blood began to trickle down her mouth and was absorbed by her red robes. The blood was indistinct against the crimson robes._

_As Leonora screamed like she was underneath water, underneath blood, her body convulsed in the terrible agony of it. Death seemed to be a far more appealing ordeal._

_Then, Vittoria spoke in a cold voice, a voice that held no compassion, no mercy. A voice that held only the cold rule of justice, a voice that sealed Leonora's fate as she slowly spiraled down the drain of the death._

_"Deliver us from evil."_

_Leonora gave a rattling gurgle, a final testimonial to her treatment, and then went still, her hands falling from her neck then down to her sides. Her mad green eyes no longer held anything, but the icy touch of death. In her mad quest for escape, she only locked herself into her demise. She now hung by the neck, slowly shaking from side to side._

_She was dead._

* * *

"My lady, are you alright?"

Vittoria blinked and stared into the countenance of the herald. He looked at her, concerned. Raising a hand, she dismissed his worry away as she stood from her chair and walked out of her parlor, her white fur dress trailing behind her. "I am alright, Roderick."

Roderick nodded, following her. "Yes, my lady."

Vittoria glided out of the room and into the wide balcony, feeling the light of the sun pouring down upon her. She walked closer to the edge and held the stone balustrade with both fists.

Deeply, she sighed. She had lied to Roderick. She wasn't alright, she was bothered greatly. The sudden remembering of Leonora's death was not just of coincidence. She remembered it because of Roy, and his love for Elizabeth. Basically, that was the reason why Leonora died.

She looked upon the city, her city, as the people went to and fro. She eyed the cititzens as they went to the market to purchase food for their families; as they went to the cathedral to pray and reflect; as they went to the palace to work or to petition; as they wandered aimlessly and leisurely in the city, unbeknownst of the terrible cloud that has gripped the entire continent. Her people were happy and peaceful, ignorant of the war that was now burning with the full fury of a volcano. She knew that it was wrong to let people believe in wishful thinking, but she knew that worrying too much could also be dangerous.

In the distance, she heard the laughter of young boy as his father carried him on his shoulders. Vittoria thought of the day of Roy becoming a father, of seeing her son so happy and so joyous with his own family. She didn't care if Roy would want to marry Elizabeth the moment they find her. She would give them her blessing, after asking for forgiveness for the cruel things that she had said to her lady-in-waiting.

It still caused a pang of sorrow to recall those words. Much worse now that indirectly, because of her and her great love for her son, she had caused Roy the greatest pain.

Roy had always been full of life, even in the darkest of times. But, now, he was a living epitome of emptiness. There was no smiles on his face, nor the twinkle in his eyes. Losing Elizabeth had sapped him of the light of his spirit. She could see that he was dying in his heart, and that only Elizabeth could breathe in the life back to him. It hurt her to be a witness to her son's silent agony.

She thought that this was the punishment God had given her for eliminating the life of a human person. Seeing her son quietly break, it was pure torture for her. She longed to wipe the pain away, like the way she used to nurse him when he was sick. Yet, Vittoria couldn't do anything about. She could only pray that, one day, she can look into her son's face and only see a smiling countenance of a euphoric man. Not even all the riches of the world can compare to her son's happiness.

Slowly, she turned and looked at Roderick. Silently, she begged him as she spoke, spoke in a tearful way, quite opposite to the way she condemned Leonora to her death. "What of Elizabeth, Roderick? Do you bring news of her that can place a smile on my son's face?"

Like the slow wilting of a flower, a mother's heart broke as the herald shook his head and said, in a grave, hopeless voice. "None, my lady."

* * *

He hated it. Hated it with a vengeance that could ravage an entire city and bring it to flames. No matter what, Roy hated the fact that he had to give up his quest for Riza in favor of the war beginning. He knew that it was his responsibility to protect the Italian Kingdom, and as much as he wanted to run out to look for Riza, he didn't want his people to be slaughtered. Still, he hated it.

And as much as he hated it, Roy accepted that fact, and because of that fact, he was now here, in Barcelona, in the Spanish Kingdom. He took the time to travel from Italy to Spain by sea and now, he was riding a carriage to his temporary residence, the Palacio de Barcelona. It was located by the seaport, and as tired as Roy was from his travels and his search for his beloved, he wanted to make some time for himself, to think if chasing after Riza was the right thing.

If he did found her, it was still unknown if she was ever going to take him back. And though he could command her to accept him, a loveless relationship with her was something that he couldn't force himself to accept. It would hurt him, but it would hurt her a thousand-fold.

Seeing the sea in the distance, Roy turned his head, hearing the sound of a bell being clanged. By the mountain was a large cathedral, set in stone and designed with marble statues. It was an awe-inspiring sight; seeing the grey monolith against the green background of the mountain. Distractedly, he asked the driver in Castilian Spanish.

"What is the name of that church, sir?"

The driver replied in the same language. "That is the Church of Saint Jeanne d'Arc, milord. Would you like for me to stop by?"

Roy thought about it, as he glanced once again at the church. He always loved going to quiet places to think, and a church was one of those quiet places. Still, the matter of the war and the matter of finding Riza were pressing down on him like a mighty avalanche. He still needed to reinforce his army, and out there in the world, Riza could be anywhere. Maybe in this city right now.

If only wishes could come true.

Still, he needed time to think and reflect. If he did find Riza, it would surely take more than a profession of love and begging her for forgiveness. He had many things that he needed to straighten out first before continuing his voyage of tracking her. He may even need to think of what he may do if Riza, by any chance, was dead. The thought chilled his soul, but the possibility existed, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He needed to prepare himself for that, too.

"Yes, take me to that church."

Then, the carriage changed course and was now climbing the mountain. On the way, he thought more and more on the things that could happen in the span of the time he was taking in nursing Italy's army. Maybe, if he had gone to Andorra like he was supposed to this morning, he could have found Riza there. But, the overwhelming matter of the war forced him to travel down to Barcelona. Perhaps, after this, he could head north to Andorra and France and continue his search for her there.

When the carriage arrived, Roy stepped out and gazed at the stone monolith. It was guarded by large walls and an ironclad gate. Flanked by his men that had accompanied him, Roy entered the church grounds and gazed upon the hallowed structure with a calming sense of peace. Even the statues around brought a tranquility to the place. Not even the heat of the noon sun brought misery to the area. Breathing in the fresh mountain air, Roy stepped into the church, his men following.

Upon entering, he was greeted by a nun, who had piercing dark blue eyes and making out from the hair that escaped her habit, had dark brown hair as well. She nodded and gave a small, yet polite small. "Welcome to the Church of Saint Jeanne d'Arc. I am Sister Marianna. How may I help you?" She spoke in Spanish.

Roy responded in the foreign language. "I'm just here to reflect, and think. Do you know where I can find the nave?"

She nodded and Roy followed her, his men behind him. She led him through a series of hallways and finally emerged through a garden. It was cool and calming and though it was only a moment, Roy felt whole. He did not know how or why, but it felt like Riza was suddenly there, next to him. Sadly, reality was too potent for the imagination to conquer as there was no Riza beside him. Instead, there was only a tranquil serenity that may have brought the desire from him.

They continued, Roy following Marianna as she led the way to the nave. The church was proving to be very large. On the way, they passed by a beautiful nun, though she was now in what may seem to be her forties. The nun had blue eyes, but unlike the dark blue of Marianna, hers was the color of sapphire. She also walked with a grace of dignity and nobility that invoked an overwhelming sense of respect for her. She walked with the stunning elegance of a noblewoman.

"Mistress." Marianna said, in Castilian and Roy subtly noted that the nun did not reply. Instead, her sapphirine gaze was locked on something. And as they passed her, and as Roy turned his head to glance back, for one moment, for one tiny moment born perhaps from desperation and despair, were it not for her blue eyes and her dignified and aged countenance, Roy swore that, for one moment, he was looking at Riza.

Then, that moment disappeared and the nun went out to gardens as Roy suddenly emerged out into the nave. Marianna turned, her black habit swaying as she bowed her head and smiled her polite smile. "If you may need my assistance, I shall be outside."

Marianna left, and after raising his hand, his men too had left the nave, closed the doors and waited outside. Roy dipped his hand into the Font and with his Holy Water-slicked hand, made the Sign of the Cross and knelt.

He thought about Riza, about his great love for her and about the quest of searching for her. He thought about the war that was pressing down on him, rendering him helpless. He thought about his parents as they too felt the constricting bonds of the matter of the war. He thought about the nun that looked like Riza. He thought about the feeling of tranquility that he felt in the gardens, the feeling of knowing Riza was close.

It all stunned him, and made him tired. He wanted so much to lie down and sleep, much more knowing that Riza was enveloped within his arms. He wanted that so badly to happen, it almost made his heart ache. He never wanted so much in his life, the way he did now. Kneeling before God in His Church, Roy asked to be given a second chance with Riza, to be given that right to see her, hold her, love her. He never wanted anything as much as he wanted this now.

"Lord, please, let me see her once more, to be able to tell her I love her. That's all I ask. And if I do not get that wish, then I know it was not because of Your lack of Help. Please, Lord, that's all I ask." Roy prayed, for the first time in his life. He prayed for something that he could no longer do alone. He always thought of himself as invincible. But now, he was down on his knees begging for that chance to hold the one that he loved so much again.

And as he prayed, he failed to realize that the one he wanted so much was just in the next room.

* * *

_AN: Evil cliffhanger! I hope you all like this chapter. I included Leonora's death scene since one of my readers wanted to know how she died. Anyway, I hope you all at least leave a review! I kinda feel under-appreciated right , I write around a thousand-worth of words per chapter. It's not bad that I demand for at least 5 reviews, isn't it? LOl, jk. Though I am serious about the reviews.  
_


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: I need review food. LOL._

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Chapter 12: Betrayal

Elizabeth stood from the wooden pew when an elderly woman entered the room, her black habit trailing. The woman had sapphirine eyes, eyes that were penetratingly a deep color of blue. She was elderly, but not old, and beauty still touched her face, though in a more dignified manner. She was probably a beautiful woman in her younger years, the object of affection and desire of a thousand men. Even in her aged years, she still held the beauty. A simple gold crucifix hung by a gold chain on her neck, her hands holding it softly. She was the epitome of a devout nun.

Alexander stood from his chair and nodded to the nun, his guards eyeing her both with wariness and a sense of respect for someone of the faith. The nun responded with a slight nod, and with a flourish of her hand, sat on an empty chair.

"Isabella, a pleasure to see you once again." Alexander began in English, probably for the benefit of Elizabeth. She had learned quite well the peculiar language, as of the others as Alexander had taught her, though she was still having difficulty in learning Russian. It was a very difficult language.

"Your Majesty." Isabella, the nun, responded as she again nodded. The woman had a silken, singular quality to her voice. It was not at all unappealing. "Have you received my message from my Sister?"

Alexander nodded, as he again spoke, his deep, gruff voice booming in the room. "Indeed, I have, Isabella. She was quite the Sister. You have taught her well."

The nun smiled in a mischievous manner as she waved her hand at the Czar. "True. One day, she would make a fine Christian woman."

"Yes, but I do have to cut matters short. There are things of consequence that I would like to discuss with you, privately. As of now, it seems prudent to discuss on the matters of the Spanish Kingdom, yes?" Alexander replied, his voice turning business-like.

Isabella was not smiling as she sighed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Now, what has His Majesty, the King, done? Has he chosen any sort of action?"

Isabella was about to say something, when she looked around at the people in the room, as if seeing for the first time that there were people. Elizabeth's brow twitched when Isabella stared at her, her sapphirine eyes penetrating. "It would be best if we shall talk of this, privately."

Alexander seemed to consider the thought, as he watched Isabella. "Perhaps you are right." He turned to everybody else, including Elizabeth, and said. "Leave us."

* * *

Roy made the Sign of the Cross before he stood from the floor and wiped his face with both of his hands. He straightened the folds of his black coat and white undervest. He straightened his cravat and turned to leave the nave, intent on resuming his search for Riza. He appreciated the time spent to reflect, but he also had lost precious moments to find her. Even if she won't accept him anymore, it would mean a great deal to Roy to know if she was alright.

He exited through the great cathedral doors and was met by his men. They all stood at attention, ready to deliver a moment's order. With a sad sigh, looking around the calm, tranquil palace-like cathedral, Roy motioned for his men to follow him.

They made their way out of the endless hallways, with Roy leading them. About to turn to a hall, Roy remembered that the path was to the other way, opposite the hall he thought to take. Just as he turned, his eyes glancing for a moment at the hallway, he caught sight of caramel eyes and blonde hair.

The sight staggered him to a halt, his eyes locked against hers. He could never forget to whom those eyes belonged, and at that moment, he wished for nothing more than to take her up in his arms and cherish her until the day he died. Yet, the sheer shock, the complete and utter surprise, rendered him immobile as Riza gazed at him, her face a picture of disbelief.

For just that moment, there was nothing but the two of them, staring at each other, savoring one another as if fearing that both would disappear. Roy took in her face, her appearance, everything. She had changed so much. Her tumbling golden hair that was always loose was now in a very long braid, tight and strong. She wore a grey dress, with sleeves so tight that ended at her wrists and buttoned up to her neck. Her smile that always lifted his heart and spirit was gone, and was replaced with a cold, grim line. She was no longer the Riza he loved; she had changed so much.

"Riza?" He asked, his voice not more than a whisper. It almost scared him to death that she would disappear. Yet, in that moment, when he whispered her name so softly, so lovingly, Riza turned her back on him.

Stunned, he watched her suddenly disappear. Unable to summon the strength to even call out to her, Roy watched as the woman he loved faded in a single second from his sight. Though it was heartening to see her alive and well, it broke his heart to see her abandon him with what seemed like fear and terror bordering on panic.

Then, urgency and desperation exploded inside him and powered his muscles to move. He wasted no time shouting her name, he was in a church after all, and just ran after her. As he chased her, his eyes caught glimpses of a blond braid as it fled down a hall. He followed it, his legs effortlessly obeying his command. Roy turned and saw blond hair whip down a stairwell, a trail of a grey dress flying along. Riza had gone down.

Without hesitation, Roy grabbed the rails and jumped over it, landing safely between the stairsteps. He caught Riza almost gliding along the towering columns, like a golden hawk skimming among clouds in the sky. She was proving to be a really fast runner. In a way, it made his heart beat faster as he snatched glimpses of her and her braided gold hair flying around as she ran. In an odd sense, it was like watching a young Aphrodite escaping from Hephaestus' unfortunate charms. She was like a statuesque goddess as she escaped from him. Still, it caused an ache in his heart to see her flee from him.

As the chase extended, Roy was beginning to catch up with her as they both ran amidst soaring columns of stone and gold, and bright crepuscular rays cutting through the gaps in the stone walls. The background gave a foreboding sense of calmness. It made Roy think that it was wrong to chase after Riza.

Dismissing the thought as mere fear, Roy sped up and was almost on the heels of the woman he loved. She was so near, the end of her blonde braid tickling his face, her tantalizing scent flaring in his nostrils. If he lunged with all his might and opened his arms, he would be able to envelope her in his arms. Afraid to hurt her, though, he refused the course of action and chose, instead, to talk to her.

"Riza! Please, don't run from me." Roy said, his tone hoarse as the past exhaustion of searching for her returned to his mind. It had been a long time, almost a year. He wanted so badly to talk to her, to tell her he loved her, to just embrace her against his chest as if afraid she would dissolve into air the moment he let go. But just as he was about to grab her arm, she turned and Roy had to skid to a halt to avoid colliding with a wall.

Gritting his teeth, Roy followed her with a dash as she twisted and turned and ran between halls and rooms and even statues, trying in vain to slow him down. He would rather die than stop. Jumping in between two statues, Roy ran and as he followed Riza's trail, he saw a Sister before him. He realized it was Marianna, and was about to pass by her when she suddenly sidestepped in front of him, one of her hands out towards him, her dark blue eyes flashing dangerously. Behind her, the figure of Riza had just disappeared between two hallways. If he didn't catch up with her, he wouldn't be able to pick up where she went.

Roy was about to push Marianna out of the way, when she brought out a black rod and held it against Roy's chest. His scowl was fiery as he glared at the Sister before him, ready to thrust the weapon away from him. Marianna shook her head slowly, delivering a silent message to not do anything.

"Get out of my way, Sister, before you get hurt." Roy said, his voice taking a hard, cold edge. It should have shocked him to see a Sister, a woman of the faith, carrying a weapon, even when it was just a baton. But the thought of seeing Riza extinguished that from his head. It also had unknowingly extinguished reason from him, too.

"Please, do not make threats you cannot deliver." Marianna said, not moving an inch, her eyes returning the glare Roy sent to her. He was about to move and deftly incapacitate the Sister, when she lashed out with the black baton and struck him across the chest.

The hit made him step back as he groaned at the pain it brought. The sudden attack had left his chest stinging with pain. It felt like lightning had just struck him.

Marianna stepped back, and with her free hand, pulled the habit of her head, dark brown hair flying out. It was dizzying, along with the pain, to see Marianna without her habit. It seemed sacrilegious to see a nun without her habit.

"It may seem to you as a blasphemy to see a Sister attack, but you cannot ever conceive of what I am here to do. So, please, I suggest you turn around and leave, or I will not hesitate to kill you." Marianna said in an imperiously icy voice. Having recovered from her attack, Roy stood to his full height. Marianna was quite tall, and though he couldn't look down on her, he still towered over her by a few millimeters.

"Why do you do this, then?"

"I have my orders and I am to follow them. It does not matter that you are a prince. If my orders say that I must stop you, then I will." She replied, not backing down, her black baton still out and ready to lash out.

He looked into her blue eyes, seeing the iron determination in them. He knew that even if he did force himself, Marianna wouldn't just give up. He knew, after hearing her talk about her orders, that she was not working alone. Looking away from her, he looked to the doors where Riza had disappeared. Breathing deeply, tears in his eyes, he nodded, fearing to test his voice. Still nodding, he turned away, his eyes never leaving the doors. Riza left him.

And even though he was to blame for the things that had hurt her, things that made her life miserable, Roy couldn't help but feel the pain of betrayal as it wounded up in his heart. He swallowed as he walked away from a tense Marianna, whose blue eyes now turned compassionate. When he felt a touch on his arm, he turned to see the Sister looking into his eyes, her own blue eyes turning into a liquid sapphire as she smiled sadly.

"I am sorry." But those three words, instead of lifting his heart, only made him feel sadder, and a bit angry. Snatching his arm forcefully from her, he glared at her with so much force that she took a step back.

"You? Sorry? How can you mean that when you stopped me from getting Riza? I had searched for her for so long and you had to stop me! I can't believe you!" As Roy growled at her, tears leaked from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks. The pain and hurt bloomed inside him like a tormentingly deadly rose, beautiful but deadly.

Not even bothering to stay to hear what Marianna would say to defend herself for her actions, Roy stormed off as tears continued to fall. The pain of betrayal was too much and he went away, not bothering to look for another route to look for Riza.

He had enough. She can hide away in the New World for all he cared. He was tired of games and pain. He wanted all to end so he could just rest in peace.

He left the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco without looking back.

* * *

_AN: Well, I hope that you all liked this chapter, even though it's a bit militaristic._


	13. Chapter 13

_AN: Thanks to all those who reviewed. It really meant a lot._

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Chapter 13: A Martyr's Sorrow

Elizabeth slid to the cold marble floor as she pressed her back against the great double doors. She felt her heart pounding like a drum, her feet aching with the agony of running in heeled boots. With a gloved hand, she wiped the sweat off her face. Blond strands of hairs stuck to her forehead, and her blond braid clung to her neck.

Her mind was buzzing with an avalanche of emotions, from sadness, to anger, to surprise and to fear. Why had he appeared now? It had been a long time since she had last seen him. Of all the places and times that she wanted to see him, she didn't expect it to be in a church. The memory of even gazing at his face brought a jump from her heart.

It also brought out an ache.

Not for what he did to her, or what she felt, but for what she saw. His face was no longer the same smiling, handsome and tireless countenance. No longer was he the energetic Duke that she fondly remembered him so. He no longer was the man who rode on horses early in the morning just to feel the wind, or chase after dogs intent on bestowing revenge for biting him. He had changed so much. There was no ounce of the young Roy.

He was still very handsome, Elizabeth admitted, but his face had gone older, and more mature. There were bags under his eyes, and his mouth was in a grim line. There was no more spark in his eyes, the spark of life and joy that once so invigorated her. There was no Roy shining in those eyes. It was only duty and commitment. That, most of all, had broken her heart.

Maybe, that was why she ran. Perhaps seeing him unlike the man that she loved had propelled her to flee. He wasn't Roy anymore. The person in the body of the man she loved with all her heart was replaced with a man forced to follow duty and responsibility. It also brought a pang of hurt from Elizabeth's heart when the thought came that it may have been all her fault.

If she hadn't fallen in love with him, there would be no guilt, no remorse, no pain in seeing him, in gazing at his face. She didn't even give him the benefit of an explanation. She just ran. It embarrassed her to remember how a coward she was when she ran. Instead of confronting him, demanding why he had not done anything to help her, she ran. Instead of trying to comfort him, trying to bring back the Roy from him, she ran.

But she knew why. She was afraid to get hurt again. She was still healing from what had happened, and she didn't want the wound to open anew. Yet, the guilt brew in her until it was too much to suppress. She did not give him the benefit of a doubt. She had not asked him if he really did not feel the way she felt for him. Instead, she had just placed judgment on him without a second thought and just ran. She had labeled him a monster without even giving him a chance to prove his words.

It was that guilt that brought a stinging pain in her eyes. It was that guilt that caused the tiny drop of water to fall from her eyes. It was that guilt that made her stand and open the double doors, intent on righting her mistakes. She wanted to erase the tired face of the man from her memory. She wanted the old Roy back. She wanted him back. She wanted the security and happiness he gave her back.

"Roy?" Blinding silence took his place. He was no longer there. The empty halls echoed only her cry for him, nothing more. He was no longer there.

It was there and then that Elizabeth smiled in humorless misery. The tears fell from her eyes as she smiled at her punishment. He was no longer there. He didn't want to wait for her, to chase after her. Now, as payment for her mistake, Roy was gone. He was no longer interested in explaining himself. She had pushed him away. In so doing, she had pushed her only chance at love and forgiveness away. She had pushed her chance at a bright life away.

Her legs took motion, her boots whispering against the polished floors. Memories flooded her brain, memories of him and her in a time so long ago. It haunted her, mocked her with its cruel unreachability. She could not return to that time anymore. She was now left with silence and the past. Fleeting visions of the past, visions of her in his arms, came to her in tantalizing agony. One struck her the most.

She remembered being carried in his arms as Roy and she ran across the meadows outside the Palazzo della Quattro Santa, the sun eyeing them softly with its warm glow. She remembered gazing at his handsome face, at the smile that melted her heart, at the twinkle in his eyes. She remembered saying that she loved him quietly, so that he could not hear her. She didn't know why she had whispered the three words. Now, she knew. In the end, she had destroyed him.

As the tears fell, she continued on her way, each second used to remember the past and thinking on the 'what could have been'. She followed her way out of the church, her heart aching with each step. When she exited the church, she saw through blurry eyes a carriage leaving. The person by the window turned, and she saw him there.

He gazed into her eyes for the longest time, took in her tears and her cynic and hopeless smile, and turned away, not even bothering to gesture for a goodbye. She deserved nothing less. Even when the pain and hurt fell her to her knees, she deserved nothing less. Even when she screamed and wailed, she deserved nothing less. Even when she crumpled to ground, her tears mingling with the asphalt, she deserved nothing less.

The carriage had never stopped, or slowed down, as she screamed his name. The man inside it never looked back, never even gave an inclination that he had heard her. He no longer cared. He didn't want to, anymore. He had chased after her, begging her to stop. Even though he had not said it, she knew that he wanted to explain what happened so long ago. Still, she denied him even that privilege. And now, he no longer listened, no longer cared.

Now that it was she who was chasing after him, screaming for him. Now it was he who no longer cared, who denied her the privilege of a doubt.

She deserved nothing less.

It didn't take long, however, for someone else to hear her screams. On the ground, still weeping, she felt gentle hands as a voice asked her what was wrong. She didn't hear them, not even caring to look at them. Instead, she just screamed it all away. Screamed every hurt, every dream, every hope away as the hurt and agony laced inside her.

"He's gone." Was the only thing she could say.

* * *

"How is she?" Jean asked Gracia as she stepped out of the room. They were staying in the church, with the Mother Superior being kind and generous enough to offer them accommodations. He had been concerned when he heard the screams. It was something he could never forget. It made his stomach roil and his hair stand on end. Even remembering it now caused goosebumps to appear.

Gracia sighed tiredly, her green eyes watering with tears. "It's not good. She still won't stop crying."

Jean's hands balled into fists. It was that bastard's fault. When he had heard her screams, he went out to find Elizabeth on the ground, weeping, being comforted by a Sister. Then, everything came fast as people crashed into the scene. Some were Sisters who had helped Elizabeth stand and helped her to a bedroom. All the while, Jean could hear her muttering 'He's gone.'.

"It will pass over. She's just hurt, and she'd need to cry it all out." Jean answered softly, his concerned eyes on the bedroom doors. Gracia wrung her hands as she sighed again.

"I guess you're right. If only I could make her stop crying..."

"It's a waste of time to have wishful thoughts. What's best now is to let her cool off, let her release everything that has been pent-up for a long time. " Jean answered quietly as he shifted his weight unto his other foot. Both turned their heads at the sound of people coming. It was the Mother Superior, Isabella de Saint-Clair.

With an austere air that exuded regality, the Mother Superior stopped before them, her black habit like a cloak of darkness around her. Her sapphirine blue eyes appraised him and Gracia as she clasped her hands together. She had an arrogant and imperious countenance, masked by a dignified and mature face of beauty. "Is this where the woman Elizabeth is?"

Both nodded. She turned her eyes to the doors and continued forward. Jean raised a hand. "If I may ask, what are you planning to do, Senora?"

The Mother Superior turned her cold eyes on him and said. "What concerns me, concerns me alone. I will not have someone screaming in my church."

And with that, she turned and opened the door. She went in and slammed the doors in their faces. The hall was silent.

"Do you think that she can help Elizabeth?" Gracia asked. Jean huffed. He had always been annoyed by the arrogance flaunted by most nobles.

"I don't know, Gracia. I don't know. For the mean time, though, I will see to the guards and sentries." With that, he turned and left the hallway.

* * *

Elizabeth stared quietly at the book in her hands. It was a bible that she had found inside the drawer of one of the small cabinets inside the warm room the Sisters had brought her to. It was small, but not terribly so, and cozy. The stone walls were painted a pale beige, and a large painting of a saint hung off the side. A large, grilled window allowed her to see the night outside. Two lamps, one hanging by the wall and the other on the bedside table, gave off an orange glow to the room, making it look warm and welcoming. The bed she was lying on had satin sheets that felt good against her bare feet and a thick blanket that protected her from the cold. The warmth should have made her feel safe and comfortable. She didn't feel like it at all.

The only source of comfort she had was in the bible in her hands.

_HEBREWS 13:5_

She read the verse again, finding the comfort in the words that was written in them. She tried to put it in her heart, tried to lessen the guilt and pain. She tried to feel that she was not alone as she thought.

_Be free from the love of money, content with such things as you have, for he has said,_  
_I will in no way leave you, neither will I in any way forsake you. _

At that moment, the door opened and shut loudly. She looked up and saw the Mother Superior standing. With an inclination of the head, she said in a meek, tired voice that was hoarse from all the screaming she had done. "Good evening, holy mother."

"Good evening, my child." She answered in a soft voice. She gestured to the seat that was placed near the bed. "May I?"

"Of course, holy mother. This is your home, not mine."

The woman smiled as she sat down, her black habit like a trail of a dress. She turned to look at her, sapphirine blue eyes alight with complete penetration. "You were in an upset state, a while ago."

She nodded as her eyes fell to the verse again, trying to contain the tears, trying to pretend that it didn't matter, when in all honesty, it always did. She may not have mattered to him, but he mattered everything to her. He always did.

"I am sorry for my indecent display. I ask for your forgiveness." She said in a polite voice, covering herself with her mask. It seemed that her mask was now her only place of refuge, her sanctuary.

"Your apology is accepted, my dear. Some would have acted that it was nothing, but you asked for forgiveness for disrupting the peace of my home. Such thought enlightens me that not all of the young are turning decadent." She answered, her smile growing.

She didn't know how to reply, so she nodded and turned her head to watch the outside. The silence was awkward.

"Elizabeth," She began. "how are you?"

Elizabeth stared back at her. "I am fine."

The Mother Superior shook her head and stood. She walked close and exended an arm. Elizabeth glanced at it, then looked up to the woman's sapphirine eyes. "Come, let me show you something."

She nodded, and grasped the hand extended to her. Pulling the blankets off, she stood from the bed, her silver nightgown cascading over her bare legs and to pool on the wooden floors.

The woman, with Elizabeth in tow, went to a cabinet that stood off the side of the room. She used her free hand to open it, the cabinet doors swaying silently. Simple dresses filled the inside and the nun pushed them away, to reveal a mirror. Elizabeth stiffened.

It was not the dresses that shocked her, or that there was a mirror behind it. It was her reflection that struck her to the spot, rigid.

The woman in the mirror was a woman she recognized, having seen her many times. She recalled her glowing blond hair, her caramel brown eyes, her soft pink lips and her perfect complexion.

But the woman was not her. Not Elizabeth, not Riza, not no one.

The frightfully hollow look in the woman's eyes and the haggard countenance was so unlike Elizabeth that she staggered back. It was not her. The woman before him was dead, was no longer living in the world of life and emotion. She looked like an imitation of Human Death, the loss of the will of life.

In the mirror, she saw the Mother Superior smile sadly and gazed at her tenderly. Elizabeth had no response, she was numb as dead.

"This is the woman I see, Elizabeth. This is the woman I see when I look at you. This is not the Elizabeth Alexander spoke of. He spoke of a woman who was resplendent, strong, and divine. He spoke of a woman who had a magnanimous heart, who never hurt anyone. He spoke of a woman who understood and accepted that she was born with little, and chose to be human and accept what she was given. He spoke of a woman who clearly saw what she was unjustly denied, and endured it alone. But what I see is a woman who is now spiritless. What I see before me is a woman who had sacrificed so much to ensure the happiness of others, except her own. What I see before me is a woman who is slowly dying."

Then, Elizabeth found the words that spoke her heart's true feelings.

"No, she's not. The Elizabeth he spoke of is tired and weary. She can no longer fight."

A warm hand enveloped her shoulders. The nun spoke. "But she can still live. Life is not always a battle. Sometimes, it is like a calm lake under the moon. Serenity comes to those who rightfully deserve it."

She stared once again at the empty woman in the reflection, at the tired eyes and the weary spirit. "I'm sorry. I'm tired."

"Martyrdom is rarely joyous, my dear."

"Neither is solitude."

* * *

_AN: So, I hope you all like this chapter. Funny, because while I was writing this really sad chapter, I was watching Orphan. And I gotta say, I am falling in love with Esther Coleman. Anyway, I'd like to thank all those who reviewed my last chapter. You all gave me reason to go on with this story. This story really means much to me._


	14. Chapter 14

_AN: So, I posted some art from this story to my DeviantArt profile. I hope you all like it, and if you have some fan arts there, I'd be happy to recognize them!_

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Chapter 14: The Battle of Saints

In a paralyzing flash of recognition and perception, Elizabeth awoke. Her breath came out in puffs, and her alert brown eyes surveyed the room she slept in with alarm bordering on panic. She had no idea what made her wake, but there was a gut wrenching feeling down in her stomach. It made the hair on her the back of her neck stand on end. It gave her gooseflesh.

She looked out the window, towards the dark night. It was probably past midnight, but not yet early dawn. Confused, she stood and made her way to the windows. She stood close and leaned her head on its cold, glassy surface. The night was frigid, and her breath covered the glass with a blanket of moisture. She watched as the moist stilled and faded slowly into nothing.

She blew again, and the moist reappeared. Lifting a hand, she traced Roy's name on the moist glass and watched it fade.

The shadows twitched. She froze.

Squinting her eyes for better vision, Elizabeth spied on the trees surrounding the monastery. They were all silent, still and sturdy. There was not a pinch of movement.

Another shadow twitched. She moved away from the glass.

Slowly and silently, she put on her boots and dashed out of the room. When she burst out, half a dozen guards jumped unto their feet, their weapons raised towards her, poised to kill. Once they realized it was just her, they let down their weapons. Before they could apologize, she beat them to it. "Where's Jean?"

"Patrolling the lower levels, madam." One of the guards answered. She wasted no time and was now sprinting downwards, all the while shouting. "Prepare your men! There are intruders here!"

She had no idea if there really were intruders, but the prickling feeling she had confirmed her fears. As she flew down the flight of stairs, her brown boots striking raucously against the floor, she caught sight of Jean speaking to a few guards. The commotion from above and the noise her boots created made him look towards her in puzzlement. When he saw her distressed face, his hands went to his weapons and marched towards her.

"What's wrong?" He asked. She wasted no time in answering.

"There are intruders, Jean. I saw them pass through the trees."

His blond brows drew down and he looked at her in question. "What do you mean there are intruders?"

As Jean asked, she grabbed his arm and hurried around, looking for Gracia and Hughes. "There are intruders in the area, Jean! They used the trees to be able to pass unknowingly! I was in my room looking out the window and I saw them!"

Before she could take a step further, she was abruptly stopped by Jean, whose hand gripped hers gently but effectively. "Elizabeth, what you are saying implies securing the monastery, putting dozens of lives in danger and probably mean a losing battle! And that is if what you are saying is true!"

"What do you mean?"

"What did you see, then?" He asked.

She answered. "A twitch in the shadows. A twitch made by intruders!"

Jean sighed and wiped a weary hand over his face. "Have you considered that the twitch could have been made by an animal? A bird? A squirrel?"

For the first time, Elizabeth took notice of the people watching them. Soldiers, Sisters and messengers were all around: on balconies; hallways; stairways; in between pillars; even a few doors were open and curious faces peeked out to watch the scene. What if she was wrong? What if the twitch was just from an animal? Still, the uncomfortable feeling was still there, this time strong. If it was nothing, then she would be humiliated.

Humiliation, she could handle. A massive bloodshed, she could not. After having experience something similar to that at a young age, Elizabeth did not want to befall that fate on anyone else, even if the person deserved it.

Just at the moment, the great double doors of the church burst open. They banged against the stone walls like thunder. Men in uniforms came charging in, their faces slick with blood, hands holding guns and blades ready to kill. The commotion caused an uproar: the Sisters began to scream, and the soldiers inside drew their weapons and began forming a defense barricade inside the hall.

To her side, Elizabeth watched as Jean marched into the group of bleeding men and pulled one up. By the looks of him and his less than enough amount of weapons, he was a sentry.

"What happened?" Jean asked as he looked into the man's panicked grey eyes.

"It's an offensive force, sir. They surprised us and got the upper hand. They're approaching the church as we speak."

At that moment, the sound of shots and screams of pain in the distance echoed inside the church. Without a moment's hesitation, Jean let go and turned. "Get His Majesty and his entourage out of here!"

Then, through eyes blank with apprehension, Elizabeth watched as men went to follow orders and was surprised to be pulled suddenly. She turned to see Jean leading her by the arm as he made his way towards the back of the church. On their way Maes and Gracia, both in their sleeping garments, appeared and joined them, as did the Imperial Guard. Soon, it was now a small platoon of soldiers with them as they searched out the Czar.

As if on cue, Alexander appeared, dressed in traveling clothes. Behind him was a woman with gorgeous blond hair and piercing sapphirine eyes. Her old but beautiful face looked familiar. Then it hit her.

It was the Mother Superior Isablla de Saint-Clair.

Yet, this time she did not look like a nun. She looked as if she was about to ride into battle. She wore a breastplate over a white dress, black boots peeking out of the slits by the sides. Knives were tucked in by the sides of her boots and a gun was sitting by a belt on her waist. A gold crucifix hung by her neck. She looked at once deadly and divine. She looked like a commander of saints and angels, and the divine executioner of God.

"Chancellor Archer is now overseeing our escape route. We should hurry, Your Majesty." Jean said as he and the men bowed, and the women curtsied. When they all had stood, they followed the same route, this time the platoon encircling the Russian Emperor and the Mother Superior. It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth as to where they were going. Subtly, she turned her head to Jean and asked. "Where are we going?"

"An exit."

Her blond brows drew down. "We're in a church. There's only one entrance, and we obviously cannot go that way."

Hearing her words, the Mother Superior turned to her. "This was a fortress before a church, my dear. As Mother Superior, I know of an escape passage used by the generals of times past. We are heading there now as we speak."

Silence and panic engulfed the small company as they made their way towards the exit, with Isabella leading the way. Behind them resonated the sounds of soldiers preparing and Sisters being led away. She could still hear the cries of some of them, until a soldier scolded them to keep quiet. From time to time, Alexander would turn to her and to Jean and back to where they were going.

Shadows lurked behind massive columns in the lamplight as they moved across another hall. Massive frescoes and murals covered the surfaces of the hollow ceiling and spaces in between gold gildings and frames on the walls. Torches burned from where they hung by the pillars, occasionally crackling with a small burst of flames. The guards accompanying them had their weapons out, and were watching everything, even the quiet shadows, vigilantly.

"We're here." Isabella said, gesturing for the crowd to halt. Before them were two large statues of soldiers, atop horses. Both had pikes and they were set against each other. Behind the statues was just a wall decorated with paintings.

"There is nothing here." Jean said aloud, putting into words what Elizabeth thought. Alexander turned, and said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Don't make the mistake of putting doubt into Isabella's words, my boy."

Isabella turned her head to look at them, and with a sly smile said. "Yes, listen to your Czar. What lies beneath is often overlooked."

And with that, she grasped the pike of the left soldier and pulled down. The pike, surprisingly, turned downwards, and the mural painting behind the statues cut in half. Both parts slid back to reveal trees and moonlight. Still surprised, Elizabeth dumbly followed them as they began to make their way out. Even Jean was struck silent. As they all exited, Isabella turned back and went to the opening in the walls. Elizabeth watched as the woman placed her hand on one part and pulled it out from the wall. She then did to the other one and soon, both halves were one again.

Suddenly, screams of pain and panic pierced the silent night. Everyone froze as they listened to the horrible sound as it slowly died out. Then, shots were soon heard, and the shouts of people began to grow near. With panic by their side, everyone made way towards the port. All the while, they stayed by the shadows and hid beneath the trees' large limbs.

Soon, they were now silently crouching by the bushes. Sweat clung to her head and back as Elizabeth followed Gracia through the labryinth of flora. Isabella, who was on the lead, would occasionally stop and let them rest before resuming. The pain and effort was forgotten as urgency overtook them. If they were to even dally, they would all be dead by now.

Still, she wondered who the men were. A part of her feared that it was the Italians. It pained her to have her own people come after those she cherished.

As they continued, Elizabeth's hand caught the sharp point of a rock and she winced. Everyone turned to her, and before she knew it, something hard and rough struck her back.

She groaned in pain as the beat fell her to the ground. Desperate to comfort the bruise, she rolled on the ground to face the attacker. It was a soldier, a gun pointed at her. He flicked his dark brown eyes to the group and raised his free hand, which contained another gun. She turned her brown eyes and saw that it was set for Alexander.

"Where do you think you are going, Your Majesty?" The man spoke and Elizabeth could feel her blood turn to ice. He spoke in Italian.

Then, before anyone else could move or say anything, the man grunted and a shining blade erupted from his chest. Blood sprayed against her, and gushed down his uniform. The soaking red liquid coated her white nightdress and sprinkled her face. In a way, it almost seemed like she was the one who had been run through with a sword.

From behind the man, Jean appeared and, with one swift gesture, took the sword out of him. He stumbled to the ground, his face a picture of shock. Then he fell forward on the ground, blood pooling out. Elizabeth stared at the red liquid before trying to stand. In a heartbeat, Jean was on his knees, helping her up.

"I'm alright, but we have to get out of here, now." Jean nodded and followed her as she turned to the group and nodded.  
Then, they were back on the trail like nothing happened. Soon, the sound of waves splashing against the surface reached their ears. The Mother Superior turned to them, and said in a quiet voice. "We have arrived at the port."

Urgent and ready to seek shelter and refuge, they all stood. Elizabeth paled.

The whole port, and the ship, was in flames.

Then, from behind them, came the sound of footsteps and weapons bared. She could hear the clicks of the guns and the sharp hiss of the swords. A cold voice spoke out.

"This is where it ends."

* * *

_AN: So, I had put up some art on my profile. My profile has a link of my DeviantArt profile, and I really want all of you to judge it. By the way, I do hope that you all give a review. I am beginning to feel unmotivated once again._


	15. Chapter 15

_AN: If I could teleport to every one of my readers, I would have brought you each a bucket full of chocolate and hug for your wonderful comments. I'm dearly sorry if I ever sounded so demanding in the last chapter. It's just that my stories are the results of me using my talents. In school and from my friends, I hardly receive any comment about it because they either do not know what FMA is or that they like other animes like Naruto and Kurushit-something (I have no idea how it is spelled, so forgive me). It's only here, and from you my readers, that I get to know how my story is received. I really do have the motivation to continue, but when I post chapter after chapter, and watch as the reviews slowly decrease to one per chapter, I feel as if my story is not that interesting and maybe it is right to just quit and stop._

_All of you have got to see that your comments, be it short or long, critique or compliment, means so much to me. I'm the type of person who would stay awake for a week to make a project it's best all because I want to know how others appreciate or criticize it. In truth, I live for the reviews and for this story. Especially since this story holds a very special place in my heart._

_As much as you may seem to think otherwise, I am in reality a very mature person. Too mature for my age of fifteen (I'm going on sixteen this coming 4th of October). I know so many things about the world, its ways and the people in it. I'm not dull or naive (forgive me for my frankness) like my colleagues and friends. I grew up being taught to expect the worse from the world. My father (A very honorable man, I say) taught me that vigilance and determination are two important allies for you to be successful. So, to cut the whole story short, this story, this love between Roy and Riza is something that I really like to have._

_But I know that now is not that time or the place for it, so I write down my dreams and hopes into this story. So, I hope you will all hold what I had just said in your hearts when you read my story. It's funny though. When I read the story traffic for The Royal Phantasm, it seemed to reach the hundreds but only a few put reviews. Sighs. Well, we can't always get what we want._

_In a way, you are not reading about FMA. In a way, you are reading about me._

_Oh, and Adelaide, what made you like Isabella? I'd like to know._

* * *

Chapter 15: The Chase

"This is where it ends."

Every muscle in Elizabeth tensed like starched rope. Goosebumps rose in waves, and the hair on her nape stood like needles. Her brown eyes were wide, her face pale and her breath in slow, forced puffs. If it hadn't been for the fear and the panic, she would have fallen like a petrified log. She could feel the sweat on her back, on her neck and in between her breast. Her dress stuck to her skin like rubber, and it made her feel very hot. Yet, somehow, the wind that blew at them made her almost shiver with cold.

"Chancellor?" Jean's surprised voice broke through the silence. At that moment, Elizabeth forced her head to turn. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

Indeed, it was the Chancellor. He was dressed in his blue uniform, his pale skin standing out in the moonlight. His piercing blue eyes looked at them from beneath black brows that were permanently fixed in a countenance of indifference. His smoothed back black hair lifted slightly at the breeze. In a way, Elizabeth thought he was handsome, if he didn't look at her like he wanted to eat her. Still, she couldn't help the tingle of revulsion that rose in her.

Behind him were a platoon of troops, all their guns and rifles ready and aimed at them. If it wasn't for Jean, then the Chancellor would never have recognized them in the darkness and would have fired at them. He could have killed the Czar and her as well. Silently, she thanked Jean for his intervention.

"Havoc? Is that you?" Frank Archer asked, his baritone voice booming in the silence.

"Yes. I have His Majesty with me, and His entourage. We were on our way to the ship until it burst into flames."

Frank Archer raised his hand, and the men behind him lowered their guns. Then he turned to them. "The Italians burned the ships. They also killed the men on it."

She heard Alexander growl in displeasure. Beside him, Isabella quietly retreated to watch the burning ship in the distance. Orange light glowed from it and illuminated the dark blue sea with a haunting quality. The orange light reflected in Frank Archer's eyes as he turned to the Emperor. "Your Majesty, your life is in danger. Only the Italians knew of your existence here in the southern lands, and they have followed us and waited for a chance to strike."

By now, Alexander had stepped away from the dark and entered the orange glow cast by the distant flames. "Do you think I do not know that, Chancellor?"

Archer bowed his head as he continued. "Of course you would have known that, Your Majesty. But the danger is too much, and I suggest we leave for Saint Petersburg."

"Saint Petersburg? But that's miles away! How will we get there without a ship? Surely, you do not suggest that we take His Majesty by train! The people would know and the news will erupt. Then the Italians who followed us would then realize that the Emperor is still alive! They would find him, and us, and then kill us!" Isabella exclaimed as she stepped back into the circle. Elizabeth stood by the side of her, listening to them.

Frank Archer turned to look at her and then looked back to the Emperor. "That is why I have arranged a caravan for us to travel. Your Majesty, we will travel under the guise of gypsies. I have the papers ready to ascertain our 'validity' as royal nomads, as well as clothes and living utensils. In that, we will be safe until we seek refuge in Austria. With the Austria's help, we may be able to reach Russian borders by winter."

"Gypsies? You dare suggest we let the Emperor of Russia travel under such guise?" Jean asked, his voice taking a more hostile tone. Alexander, though, seemed to not have been offended.

"It's alright, Jean. I had to travel under much worse conditions than this. I am perfectly alright with travelling as a gypsy king. By the way, it is only until we have reached Austria. And then, we can travel as Russians with the aid of our allies in safety."

"I strongly agree with the Chancellor's plans, Alexander." Isabella began, "Safe behind the walls of Russia, you will be able to lead her and her allies better, without putting yourself in danger. Those within and without the Realm will head your call the same as you would have said it to them in person. It will also give comfort to your family to know that you are safe."

The Czar looked into Isabella's eyes, searching them. Isabella came closer, and Elizabeth saw the tears in her eyes. "Think about Maria, Alexander. If not for her, then for Catherine. If not even for her, then for my daughter."

Those two last words struck the night with silence. Elizabeth stared at Isabella and Alexander with wide eyes. Isabella had a daughter, but she was a nun. Then she focused on Alexander. Isabella had mentioned two women, Maria and Catherine. Could it be that one of those two women was his wife, and the other a sister, or a mistress? Then a thought struck her that made her face pale even worse.

Could it be that Isabella's daughter was fathered by Alexander?

But her thoughts were interrupted when Alexander spoke. "I said I will do it, Isabella. You need not have tears of sorrow in your eyes, for you know that I will never abandon you and your family. You hold a special place in my heart, my dear friend."

He raised his hand and wiped a tear from the Mother Superior's face. She smiled at him and spoke, "You are a precious friend, and an honorable man, Alexander. I hope Russia will not lose you in this time of peril. She needs her Emperor to lead her into battle."

"Perhaps, but we shall never know what the future may bring."

For a moment, Elizabeth stared as they both shared a silent moment of understanding. Then Alexander removed his hand from Isabella's face and turned to Frank Archer. "I must say, Archer, that you have devised a well plan. Lead us then, Chancellor."

Archer then moved away and led his men in securing a formidable defensive position to encircle the group. When Alexander followed Frank Archer, and passed by her, he stopped and looked at Elizabeth. He reached a hand out and laid it tenderly on her shoulder. He squeezed it softly. "I hope that no nightmare will plague your dreams, my child."

With that simple gesture of understanding and affection, Elizabeth no longer noticed the blood that soaked her dress. Instead, she smiled at him and said in a cheery voice. "I don't have nightmares, Alexander. I am usually the one who gives them."

For the first time since she had met Isabella, she had never heard the nun laugh. She was laughing, now. Alexander smiled then turned away as they continued their escape from their Italian assailants. Behind them, the burning ship drowned into the dark sea until its last flame died out.

But before she could turn to follow Alexander, Isabella gripped her arm and pulled her close. She leaned her head and spoke in a quiet voice. "There is nothing between me and Alexander except friendship, Riza. What lies above does not usually appear as what it is supposed to be when underneath."

And when she had stopped speaking and led her to the company, Elizabeth could not help but feel a little threatened and a little shocked. Isabella had read the look in her eyes when she was watching them.

But worst of all, Isabella knew the name that only a few knew: Riza.

* * *

The Maitresse walked among the corpses that littered across the marble floors of the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco. Moving her eyes, she saw the dead bodies of soldiers and Sisters fill the dark grey floor, coating them with blood. Bodies shot, stabbed, cleaved and sliced stood by or laid by the feet of pillars and even on the pews of the nave. There was even a body of a Sister, whose throat was cut savagely and her eyes shot, lying on the altar table itself, her blood inking the cloth and Bible.

A guttural sound made her turn and she saw that another Sister, who had been run through with a sword, was desperately trying to stand, her arms groping for leverage. Her brown eyes searched around and found the Maitresse's. She reached out. She said something in Castilian that resembled the words 'help' and 'me' and the Maitresse deduced it as a desire for help.

Bending, she leaned on the Sister. "Where has the Czar gone?"

The Sister gurgled, and blood came out of her mouth. All the while she shook her head, probably not understanding the German she used. She then pleaded for help once more, this time gripping the violet robes she word. Her hand was caked with blood, and the red infestation on her precious robes made her feel like it was a sacrilege.

In disgust, the Maitresse pulled back and drew her revolver. She aimed it at the Sister and fired all her six shots successively. One shot struck the Sister's stomach, the second hitting her collarbone, the third hitting her cheek, the fourth hitting her eye, the fifth hitting the space in between her brows and the sixth hitting her forehead. She died without a sound.

"Mistress!" She turned and saw one of her men approaching. His sword was bloody, and his gun was out. She asked, "What is it?"

"The Czar is gone, Mistress. Escaped. We don't know how, but we have acquired from the Sisters we interrogated that the Mother Superior and a few of her entourage escaped as well."

The Maitresse turned away, letting her anger fade. "It doesn't matter. The wheels have turned, and the cascade of events has begun. It will only be a matter of time before our plans turn into completion."

She turned back to the man. "Prepare the ship. I wish to return home. Also, prepare me a new dress. This will not do."

"Yes, Mistress."

* * *

Roy rode hard and fast, not caring that his men were yards away. He could hear their shouts for him to slow down, or he'll get injured. He paid them no heed. He wanted to feel the wind, feel its breeze attack his body with force.

His mind, however, was on Riza. Even as he rode on, thoughts of her continued to plague his, continuing to shadow every crevice of his mind like a haunting spirit. He wanted to forget her, forget everything to do with her, forget every painful memory he had of her.

She hurt him. Hurt him too much to let go. As much as he loved her, Riza's betrayal was a blow to his heart. He felt like he had just been beheaded. It pained him so much that he now wanted just the release of his emotions.

His horse zigzagged across fields and trees, passing by large tree limbs and towering boulders. His face got attacked by branches and got lacerated by sharp, pointed protrusions from the trees and rocks. Still, even when blood began to trickle down from his wounds, he did not stop. The wind felt so good, the high so ecstatic.

He made his horse skirt through boulders, and jump over gargantuan roots that seemed to rise like vines ready to entrap him. He rode past lush grass and dark wood, feeling the wind blast at him like a powerful gust of force.

In the distance, he saw a slight opening from in between the trees and he made a go at it. He followed the treacherous path, his horse almost falling at the way it leapt over large holes and small gorges in the ground. When he came to a halt, he was met by a small gap. Just a few meters away was the other end of the gap, the trees and boulders ready for his taking.

He made his horse gallop back, and when he deemed it far enough, he rode fast and hard. His horse galloped with so much force that a part of him feared that the horse would tire. But, that part was forgotten when the horse leapt into the air.

For a moment, time stilled and Roy gazed at the deep, dangerous death that awaited him from the rocks below the gap. His heart pounded, and his hands sweat. He could feel his face pale at the depth of the cliff. He could feel his heart beat in his ears.

Then, like a bullet, perception returned with a blast and his horse neighed as it flew across the cliff and landed neatly on the other end of the gap. It stopped, breathed hard, and then turned around to rest. Roy held the scream ready to burst in his throat, and let the adrenaline trickle. He could still feel his hands perspire.

Then, when he turned his head, he caught sight of her.

She was there, all beautiful and smiling. She was like an apparition from the sky, and a divine spirit from the realm of God. Her blond hair was down, enveloping her in a warm, yellow embrace. Her white dress made her look so beautiful, so bewitching, so holy that Roy held the urge to bow. But it was her eyes that drew him into her.

In her eyes was the forgiveness and love that he desired so much. Forgiveness for the sins and mistakes he had made. Love for him and him alone. That simple light in her eyes made his own trickle with tears. He couldn't believe it. She was there, and she had forgiven him.

"Roy..." Her ethereal-like voice, so serene and otherworldly, drew him in. He came closer, his horse obeying his command to be near her. She extended a milky white hand that Roy longed to hold, to caress, to kiss with such love and care that his own heart grew big with pain.

He came closer. She was so close now, so close. It was only a few steps, just a little more and he would have her. She wouldn't run away, no, she won't. She was there, gesturing him to come closer.

She was now so close that he could smell her, almost feel the power of her spirit and the strength of her valor.

"Riza, I love you." He said, and he reached out to grasp her hand. His own came so close to hers.

"I love you too, my love." She whispered, and Roy leaned forward to grasp her in his arms.

She disappeared, and Roy gazed at the abysmal trench as he leaned forward.

With that simple action, his horse came close and both tumbled down and fell to the dark death.

* * *

_AN: Cliffhanger! Now that I've done another update in less than a day, I hope there'll be no complaints. Though I can say it's just because our schedule for the week is quite less hectic, and since I have no classes for the following days, you may (I just said may) expect another update this wednesday (for me, tuesday for you) or thursday (for me, wednesday for you)._

_And for the historical facts, Maria (the one I just mentioned here) is actually Maria of Hesse, who is the wife of Alexander. Catherine is actually Catherine Dolgorukov, Alexander's favorite mistress and on whom he was in love with._

_Again, reviews so I'll be happy!_


	16. Chapter 16

_AN: If I had a fairy godmother, or even a fairly odd parent (I prefer Jorgen Von Strangle 'cause he's really funny) I would grant every wish my reviewers have just for putting your thoughts into your comments. I really appreciated them, and I hope that I can repay the favor and fulfill your expectations of me and my story. I really hope that I can make you all remember this story after many years. I really hope that it would change your lives._

_*Ahem**wipes away tears of joy* Now, getting to the point. I hope you all would like this chapter, because this is where the aftermath of Roy's fall and Riza's flight from disaster lies._

* * *

Chapter 16: Schneewittchen

"Breathe!"

A distant voice echoed in Roy's head, calling him out of his reverie of pain. It seemed that his whole body was on fire. A part of him thought that this must what it felt to be in Perdition, burning over and over until eternity's end.

"Breathe!"

The voice came again, this time louder and accompanied by a slap to the back that felt like a boulder crashing on him. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain, but he refrained mightily from screaming. He tried with all his might to not even groan, but he let out his first guttural moan of pain.

"Your Highness, you must breather or you will suffocate from the blood!"

He didn't want to breathe. Breathing hurt. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, and his whole body screamed in agony of the trauma. He distantly remembered falling from a cliff, but no more after that. All he could remember was searching for someone, but he couldn't recall the name or the person. Only the pain embraced his mind, and now it was slowly torturing him to death.

When a hand came again to slap him on the back, he screamed out in pain and blood escaped his throat. It burst like a red cloud, and his vision swam in a dizzying haze. It almost seemed like he was about to fall into a world of flickering black and white squares. Through the crazy perception, he recognized the blurry faces of his men as they surrounded him. The sounds of moving armor and urgent voices drilled into his ears and he had to shut his eyes and hold back the groan he so wanted to release.

"He's got wounds all over his chest. Rip his coat off, so we can see the damage. Thank God I trained as a doctor before I became a soldier..."

He was lost in a world of pain, and he didn't feel the men ripping his clothes apart as they searched his body for wounds. Sweat clung to him like a second skin, making him feel wet and hot as the pain laced inside him like electricity, crackling to be released. Distantly, he could hear his men urgently speak, each voice almost the same as the other. His senses were growing dull and confused, and he thought he smelled fire.

But there was no fire because they were down, on the foot of the cliff, and it was morning. The sun was proof of that, or was it just in his head? He was getting so confused, and the pain did no help at all. Worse, it only intensified his dizzy and disturbed mind.

"Dear God! We need to clear all that blood! He even has a deep laceration by his left abdomen. We need to stitch it up and call for help." A voice spoke.

"Barcelona is only a few kilometers away. We might be able to bring him there to be helped." Another voice said, this time closer to him.

"But we need to close that wound, or it will get infected."

"How?" The second voice asked.

Roy did not hear the man's reply as his body convoluted in pain. He struggled to comfort it. It hurt so much that even breathing was pure torture. Especially his stomach. He coughed up blood and began shaking again. All the while, sweat traveled all over his body like he was underwater.

Pressure was applied to where his stomach hurt most, and he moaned loudly in pain. His ears heard the echo of his moan, and even that seemed distant than it should be. He was beginning to lose consciousness as his sight began to deteriorate into flickering grains of black and white. He was not sure if his senses were even alright. It seemed like he was going insane with the pain. He wouldn't be surprised if he was imagining everything and that he was already crazy.

Then, his mind focused into a face he did not recognize. It was a woman, with yellow hair and bewitching brown eyes. She was fair and young, and probably around his age. As much as the pain continued to wreak inside him like a thousand bombs exploding, the woman's tight smile that sparkled in her bewitching brown eyes took his mind away from the slow torture his body felt. A part of him called out that it was an illusion, a faint mirage of the mind created from the pain his body suffered. Whatever it was, Roy didn't care as the face brought him comfort in his time of dying.

In his mind, his whole focus was on the face that showed nothing but understanding and sympathy and love. He yearned for her and spoke, but no words came out. Only a mumble of incoherent nothings and a low growl of pain.

Roy smelled fire and smoke as the woman in his mind appeared to come closer. She was close now, but so was the smell of ash and burning flames. Somehow, it seemed that everything he perceived was now all just inside his head. Maybe he had already gone insane with the torment.

In the distance, he heard a voice speak.

"Forgive me, Your Highness."

Pain, like he had never felt before, touched the wound on his stomach and he released a wail of the utmost agony and horror. His scream did not fade, as the pain continued to blaze like a firestorm and envelope his body like a leaf thrown into a brazier. The touch of death-like agony was too much for him, and he entered the dark, dreamless world of unconsciousness. His last thoughts being the ethereal woman borne from his mind.

* * *

Underneath garments of violet and gold, Elizabeth slowly made her way to her bed. As she slowly balanced herself on the wooden floors of the large carriage they rode, Elizabeth gripped the tumbling folds of her dress. As much as it was nice to wear a dress that was not so stifling, it was also uncomfortable to wear something that was quite...revealing. It never occurred to her that gypsies often wear clothes different from what she or other women usually wear. She even had to wear a shawl to cover the cleavage that the square neckline provided.

Once she had reached the bed, she flopped down on it and rested. With her hand, she pushed the white, frilly curtains away to reveal a small square glass window, with small locks for opening and closing. She undid the the lock on one side and opened it, allowing wind to enter the small inside of the carriage she was riding. With the breeze cooling her, Elizabeth took the time to study her surroundings.

When Frank Archer had led them to their escape carriages, Elizabeth was surprised to see a long caravan with around ten men on horses. The caravan itself was huge, and as Archer put it, everyone of right had a corresponding carriage to stay in. Alexander had took the largest one, to better play his role as a gypsy king Boris. Isabella, playing as the gypsy queen Allera, also had her own carriage. Jean and his men shared one, and would parade as the 'royal subjects' of the king. Maes and Gracia were given one carriage as well, and would travel under the guise of the governess and the tutor, respectively.

Elizabeth then sourly recalled the role she had been given to travel under: the role of being the gypsy princess Erisabeta.

She understood why their names were changed, but to transform her name into its nomadic counterpart seemed pointless. Still, it was for the sake of protection and safety.

Looking around the small room with its dark brown paint, its wooden floors with carpets all over it, and the small dresser by one corner, made Elizabeth feel like she was encased inside a box. It seemed to her that the carriage was like a moving house.

She tugged at the beads of necklaces and pearls around her neck, and roughly fondled with the rings on her fingers. To play the part, she had to dress up as royal as she can. One would think that she would be elated. How wrong that thought was.

Looking out the window, Elizabeth gazed at the moving grasses and animals that lived in them as they passed. In the long, yet fast, caravan, Elizabeth had little to do to amuse herself. So she made do with lying on her bed and watching trees and flowers pass by. From time to time, when the wind would pick up, she could hear the soft chimes of the birds and the quiet trill of authority of an eagle.

As she gazed at the lush green valleys and plains, she idly wondered how and where Roy was. Even when the thought of him brought back the pain and guilt tenfold, she couldn't help but smile as she imagined his face, his smiling dark eyes. She imagined him, riding on his black steed, the wind lifting his hair and giving him the air of a prince. She couldn't help smiling, even when the smile she wore was quite sad.

Yes, it was quite sad. Painfully sad.

But she repressed the feeling when she stood from her bed, and went to the chest that sat next to her bed. She knelt before it, and after searching her dress, she produced a key and unlocked it. She scanned the books in it, desperate for something to take away the sadness. She found one that was quite interesting, and decided to read it.

She returned to her bed, gazing outside for one last moment, before putting her attention to the book she had in her hands. She opened the book, and began reading. When the carriage moved a bit, and the cover flipped for a little, the title appeared.

_Snow White._

* * *

AN: So there! Three updates in one week, so no complaints! I was a bit disappointed with this chapter because I was unable to put anything significant to it. It's more like a transitional chapter for the next one.


	17. Chapter 17

_AN: Now, I hope this chapter would make up for last._

* * *

Chapter 17: The Old Kingdom

Elizabeth sighed contentedly as the soft wind brushed against her, quietly tickling her with its cool, airy fingers. When she opened her eyes, the small town of Perpignan greeted her with its quaint rurality. The small French town brought her memories of old communities living in the country, memories of simple and idle life. It seemed to awaken in her a sense of profound calm, even when her life was now in the path of danger.

What was it like to be there, amongst the common people? What was it like to live your life quietly and peacefully in a place where the sun quietly set and rose without a cloud of danger hanging over you?

"How are you, my dear daughter?" Alexander jested from behind. She smiled at him as he stood next to her, watching the small bustle of life. Even if he was the Czar of Russia, Elizabeth could not imagine him any more than the way he was now. She thanked God that she knew the man before the title he wore.

"Hungry." Elizabeth replied in a flat voice, eliciting a laugh from the man beside her. With Alexander, there was never a moment of sadness. He found joy in the simple things she did, and that made her feel that she belonged.

"Well, it shall not do to have my daughter, the heiress to the gypsy kingdom, feel hunger now!" He half-turned as he made his joke, but she knew he was serious about the part of the food. She heard him call out to the servants that Archer had brought, and asked for food.

As Alexander busied himself, Elizabeth watched the glowing sun from behind the mountains shine with an orange fire. She stared into it, seeing the flames anew. She wondered if Roy saw the same sunset she was seeing. She hoped he did.

"Is it like this in Russia, Alexander?" She asked suddenly, her eyes still on the sun. Beside her, Alexander turned to look at her, then to the setting sun.

"No, my dear." He responded in his deep Russian accent. She turned to him as she spoke once more. "What is it like, then?"

She saw him smile distantly, the dark brown beard he had moving as he did. The wind blew caressingly at them, lifting her blonde locks and his dark hair. She watched his deep brown eyes go faraway as he began to speak.

"It's home." The way he said it, so lovingly, so happily, made Elizabeth smile. She had always wanted a home, a place where she could be accepted for who she was, and not for what she was. She wanted a refuge from the horrible world that was by no means kind. Sighing, she listened to Alexander speak of his home.

"Russia, my home, is very beautiful. More beautiful than the foreign lands I have been to. The weather is always cold, but we Russians are warm and strong. When the sun shines down at us, we march proudly in that light. And at night, when the moon is just right, the stars seem to shine so closely and so beautifully that you may wonder if they are stars or heaven's jewels of light." He smiled at her, and drew her close to him with an arm. Elizabeth laid her head on the shoulder of the man who was more than a friend to her, who was family to her.

"Then, when the time is right at night, you can see light like you have never seen before. It shines green, violet and red in a curtain-like fall, and you are just struck with awe and admiration for its beauty that you forget all your sadness in the world. That light is called an aurora."

"Perhaps I will see such a thing one day." Elizabeth commented, trying to imagine the wondrous display of light.

"You will, my dear. And you will be astounded as I when I first saw it." He replied with a deep chuckle.

As they both stared into the quiet sun, Elizabeth envisioned the wintry bliss from where Alexander came from. To be in a place of such wondrous elegance and beauty, of such grandeur and resplendence, seemed to her most impossible. It seemed a lovely place.

"May I join?"

Both turned at the sudden voice, and Elizabeth gazed at the Mother Superior who stood before them. She was dressed as the gypsy queen, and wore thick, tumbling cloths of regal red and gold. She wore ropes upon ropes of jewels, ranging from the red ruby that shined like blood, to the clear green emerald that resembled the leaves of trees. She wore a white cloth that acted as a gypsy headdress. It was decorated with beads and pearls and a large diamond, to signify her stature as queen.

"Of course, Allera." Alexander again jested, using the cover name that was given to Isabella. The Mother Superior rolled her eyes before coming closer, and in a display of mock reverence, curtsied.

"Why, thank you, Your Royal Highness, King Boris of the Gypsies." She spoke, using Alexander's cover name of Boris. The said king laughed once again and Elizabeth smiled at their display of humor. She wondered how both could still make jokes at such dire times, because Elizabeth couldn't.

Isabella seemed to notice her sudden melancholy, and came closer. "Isn't the sunset beautiful, Elizabeth?"

She nodded as she, once again, looked at the glowing fireball that was now diminishing from between two mountains. "Yes, it really is, holy mother."

Isabella's brow twitched as she looked at Elizabeth. "You know that our real names and titles will get us all killed, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then I must ask you that, unless we are alone and with no ears listening, we shall address each other with the roles we have been given to play. So, when we are in public, you shall address me as 'Mother', Alexander as your 'Father' and Archer as your 'Dear'."

Elizabeth's smile died and was replaced with a growing chill. "What?"

Isabella watched her eyes, before turning them to the caravan. When Elizabeth stole a glance, she saw Archer speaking to a few men. "I forgot to tell you, my dear, that in order for Archer to also be protected, he must play a role. He would have been given the role as your 'brother', but his features are too different, too Alsatian to be able to cover with a false name and title. So, he has been given the role as the German count that you are to marry."

She could feel her insides turn to ice. Even though Archer had done nothing but helping them, Elizabeth didn't trust him. She didn't like him. There was just something in the man that repelled her. Sometimes, when she turned to look at him and his arctic blue eyes, there seemed to lurk a guilefulness that scared her. When he spoke, there was a coldness that frightened her. And when he looked at her, it felt to Elizabeth like she was looking into the eyes of the Devil; ghastly and horrific.

"Are you alright, child?" Isabella asked, and Elizabeth was swept away from visions of Archer's cold eyes to the woman's concerned blue gaze. From behind her, Alexander looked at her with worry in his brown eyes.

"Yes, I am." Elizabeth lied as she tried to rid her face of any sign of discomfort. She reminded herself that this was for Alexander. He had done countless things to make her life a joy, and if pretending to be in love with Archer was the price, then she would do so.

But, even thinking about it made her sick with displeasure. If only there was a place to vomit nearby.

"So, how goes the escape plan?" Elizabeth drew them away from the dreadful topic with her question. Isabella blinked, before answering.

"We are to take rest in Perpignan, and by dawn tomorrow, we shall depart for Marseille. From there, we will head up and skirt near Italy and then into Geneva. Perhaps there we can rest for a few days and then be off to Austria. It will be better to travel in a country that has not yet given its allegiance to either side. We will be safe once we've reached Switzerland."

"I must say," Isabella began once again. "that Havoc is becoming a valuable strategist. His advice is quite commendable, Alexander. Where did you get such a man?"

Elizabeth watched Alexander smile before saying. "He is Russian, Isabella. We Russians are the best, you know! The young lad has proven his mettle time and time again! I am proud of him!"

Their banter quieted after that, and Elizabeth then again watched the sun. However, after a few seconds of it, she soon got bored and turned to the servants who were now preparing the tables outside. Smoke was now climbing up the air from one of the caravans and Jean and his men were beginning to split up into different patrols for the day.

"It seems that the food will be ready in a few minutes." Isabella commented, then suddenly turned to Alexander. Her voice then dropped until only Elizabeth and Alexander could hear it. "I have sent word for my Sisters to come here, tonight. Is that alright with you, Alexander?"

Alexander pondered for a while before answering. "Of course."

Isabella nodded as she then gazed into the distant trees and forests they had came from. "It would be good to hear the news they bring. The Sisters I had asked for are only a few, and they are amongst my circle of confidantes. Our secret will be safe in their hands."

"I never had reason to doubt you before, Isabella. God knows that my faith in you is secure, my friend."

Isabella nodded, not saying anything. She then turned to Elizabeth, who had been watching them converse. "Let us help the servants, my dear. I am sure you are eager to do something aside from staring at the sun all day."

Elizabeth smiled and followed the Mother Superior as they both made their way to the servants. Alexander, who was behind them, moved the other way to speak with Jean. As they walked, the lush grass beneath her crumpled as her boots made contact with the soil. Her violet and gold dress trailed around her like a cape, and she gripped her shawl tighter as it began to slid off her shoulders.

The smell of roasted pheasant, turkey and beef hit her nostrils and her stomach grumbled in sudden hunger. Aroma from baked pies, bread and lush coriander swam in the air, combining itself with the fragrance of cooked meat. Lanterns were brought out, and there was a small bonfire for warmth, and to draw away the flies that came with the inevitable night. A large wooden table, decorated with marvelous red cloths and other soft and attractive table ornaments, stood at the middle of the caravan, which was set in its usual circle. The meat, which had finished being roasted, and some of the pies and bread were set upon gold plates on the table. Candles gave way to light, as the setting sun slowly faded to darkness and the stars began to shine their way through the night.

As the Mother Superior went to one side to help the servants prepare the roasted meals, Elizabeth made her way to the servants who were preparing the dough for baking. She greeted the servants, who responded nicely, and sat on one of the stools next to the table used for preparing bread. She gathered a handful of coriander and began cutting them up, ready to pour them into the mixture for the gravy. While she worked, the delicious smell of meat pies filled her nostrils and she could not help pausing for a bit to take a bite out of one.

The taste of the meat against her tongue, hot and delicious, made her moan with pleasure. Tasting the gravy and the coriander in it, she smiled into the pie as she took another bite and went back to her work, her meat pie sitting next to her as she cut each coriander. As she continued her duty, the servants had began preparing the table and in matter of a few minutes, all were done. She poured the coriander into the gravy and watched as a servant stirred it with a large wooden stirrer.

When night had fallen, everyone was nearly done with the preparations. Platters upon platters filled with neatly cut roast beef, pheasant and turkey paraded the decorated table. In between were baskets filled with bread, and a few plates were filled with meat pies. Goblets and glasses, filled with wine and whiskey, sat around plates, their intoxicating yet subtle smell tickling the nostrils of those near.

When all was done, Elizabeth proceeded to her room to change and told one of the servants. She left, and then came up to her carriage. After locking it, she turned and grabbed the matches near the table by the door. Lighting one, she ignited the lamp that sat nearby and with its orange light, gave illumination to the room. She closed the white lacy curtains, and went to her dresser.

When Archer had prepared the documents and clothes for their departure, she was quite astonished to see the mounds of clothes she had been given. Suddenly remembering the man's role in their pretense, Elizabeth repressed a shudder as she began searching for which clothes may seem best to where for the dinner.

* * *

After dressing herself in white and blue, and allowing her hair to fall, Elizabeth now sat opposite Gracia as the company ate their dinner. Alexander was often the first to lead them in conversation, starting talks on politics and war and, sometimes, even about the weather in France. As he, Archer and Jean spoke of war and strategies their travel routes, Elizabeth took the time to bite a piece of roasted mutton. She could taste the spices amidst the delicious and hot meat that she chewed. She ate another bite, and then bit off a meat pie. After she had swallowed, she drank a bit of wine before turning to Isabella, who was next to her.

"Holy mother, may I be allowed to ask a question?" The Mother Superior turned to her, and with a cunning smile, replied.

"By asking that, my dear, you have just asked a question, without my consent."

Elizabeth blushed. Isabella smiled. "Of course you can ask, child. Ask away." She took a bite of cut pheasant as Elizabeth asked.

"Can you tell me a bit of France, please?"

"Why, absolutely. But I must say that I am not good with history. You may find my words not in accordance with what you read in your books."

"That's alright. It's the present France that I wish to learn."

The Mother Superior drank from her cup, and Elizabeth followed too. Then, she began her tale."France, as you see today, is different from what it used to be. Gone is the old kingdom, and come the new empire. France is led by King Napoleon III, or Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte. Under his rule, France became a land under strife and with his becoming an authoritarian, set the country under him."

Before Isabella could continue, guards suddenly appeared and Elizabeth watched as Alexander stood, a large mountain in human form. She saw Jean stand as well, with no less intimidation.

"What happened, Anatoly?"

One of the guards saluted to Alexander before addressing him. "Your Majesty, some of the Sisters from the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco has arrived. They say they have been expected."

"Alexander, they are my Sisters. I shall see to them." With that, she stood and followed the men back outside the caravan circle. Talk resumed and Elizabeth watched the darkness where Isabella disappeared. From behind her, she could hear Maes and Gracia talking amidst eating. Still, she gazed into the darkness, hoping the Mother Superior would come back. Though the woman was secretive and mysterious, and a bit frightening, Elizabeth liked her. There was something that drew her to Isabella. It was a filial feeling that made her heart swell with joy.

Then, she appeared from the darkness, all noble and beautiful, but it was not her that Elizabeth's gaze was focused on. And judging from the sudden silence of the table, they too shared her sentiment. It was the women behind her that drew her attention.

Behind the Mother Superior were four women, of the same tall height and lithe frame. All four were dressed in robes of a disturbing red that suspiciously looked like blood. Each had a veil that covered their head and face, tumbling in the wind. Their faces were unrecognizable from beneath the red veils. In each hand held a small baton-like stick. From the way they carried it, it served as a weapon, and a weapon served in excellent hands.

The sight was disconcertingly chilling, eliciting fear even from the coldest of hearts.

Isabella then stood before them all and, with a voice that sounded so clear, so singular, announced to them. "I present my Sisters from the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco, Your Majesty. They have served me well, and will do as well with your command."

Elizabeth half-expected Isabella to bow. She didn't, nor did the women behind her. It seemed, from the way they stood, they needn't fear the Emperor of Russia. From their silence, they didn't even incline a greeting or a show of deference.

"Ah, please introduce them to us, Isabella." Alexander said, as he sat straighter. Archer and Jean, both sitting beside him, also sat straighter. Indifference shone in Archer's arctic blue eyes. Wariness flashed in Jean's deep azure eyes. Food seemed to glow in Isabella's sapphirine eyes.

Extending an arm to the women behind her, Isabella gestured. Together, all four women raised their hands to their veils and uncovered their faces. Seeing the slight movement from Jean's tense hand, she knew that he almost acted when the women moved. Placing her gaze back unto the women, she took in their statuesque countenances.

Each one was different from the other, but they all shared elegance, resplendence and immense beauty. From the way their eyes seemed to glaze, it seemed that nothing surprised these women. They didn't look like Sisters. They looked like elite assassins.

"This is Sister Fiona," Isabella began, and Elizabeth took in the beauty of the Sister to the leftmost. Honey brown hair tumbled in curls, framing a calm and fair face. She had striking hazel eyes, and her perfect pink lips curled into a reserved smile. She looked at Elizabeth, and her gaze ironed. "And I must say that she is quite scary."

When Isabella moved to the Sister next, Elizabeth was surprised to see a familiar face. She had brown hair, the same as Fiona, but of a darker hue. A grin sat on her beautiful face, and her green eyes sparkled with delight. She tried to place the name of the woman before him, but it slipped from her like an eel. Isabella provided her the answer. "You may recognize her, since I sent her to greet you-oh how long ago was that?-days ago? This is Sister Dahlia, the mischievous of them all."

Next was another familiar face, though Elizabeth was quite sure that she only saw the woman in passing, and had no recollection of her name. She was, by far, the most beautiful out of all of them. Her dark hair cascaded and framed a milky white face, with clear blue eyes that reflected the sky at midday. She smiled at them all, dimples appearing. She was really beautiful. "I introduce to you all Sister Marianna, who is a great strategist as well as a great woman of valor."

The last one was quiet, but no less intimidating. But by the looks of her kind grey eyes and her soft smile, she seemed quite nice. Gorgeous scarlet hair that reminded Elizabeth of the Grand Duchess Vittoria's own beautiful hair fell down to her shoulders and swept back her face, like it had been puffed by wind and had froze suddenly. It lent her a stupefying countenance that displayed the inner beauty and intelligence of the Sister.

When Isabella stood next to her, she laid a hand on the Sister's arm and said in a small, yet powerful voice. "And this is Sister Anastasia, who I believe to be an angel in human form."

Sister Anastasia smiled kindly, and performed a curtsy. From behind, Alexander gave each a smile before addressing them. "Welcome, Sisters! I hope your travel has been safe and without danger. Won't you join our small banquet? I'm sure my servants can cook something up. After all, we are Russians!"

Each Sister smiled and gave a quiet thanks. Isabella then led them to the table, the servants bringing extra chairs to place at the table. Some of the servants had begun preparing a few meals already before Alexander had given the order. Elizabeth watched them come, their disorienting red dresses swaying in the wind like the wings of a red dragon.

As Sister Marianna passed by, smiled at Elizabeth, and sat next, she saw a white blotch on her red dress. When she moved, her hand caught a part of Sister Marianna's dress. When the part slipped away, there remained, on her hand, red splotches. When she drew it close to her, and suddenly smelled the metallic odor, Elizabeth's face lost its color.

_The Sisters weren't wearing red dresses._

Elizabeth's eyes found the white blotch. She felt herself go sick.

_The Sisters were wearing white dresses._

Her eyes glared at the red stain on her hand, willing it to go away.

_The Sister's white dresses were wearing blood._

* * *

_AN: Drum roll enter! I really liked the last part. It was very disturbing. LOL. So, I hope you all review! Who knows, maybe I'll post the fifth update this coming weekend, so it's five updates in one week!_


	18. Chapter 18

_AN: So, guess what? I got through with my promise! I'd like to give thanks, and a hug, to all those that reviewed! Your comments rocked, and gave me a heady feeling before starting this chapter. It's a wonder how words can make you feel like you're on top of the world, lookin' down on creation and the only explanation you can find! Anyway, cutting from the Carpenters, I hope you all would love and give comment to this chapter!_

_In the lingo of the very fanatical, it's "OMG! I swear it's good, like OMG!"_

_Can never get enough of those people. Still laughing._

* * *

Chapter 18: Forget Me

Roy slowly opened his eyes when he heard the sound of a man cursing in pain. He then heard a feminine voice quietly reprimand the man to keep quiet as the first crepuscular ray of morning cleaved the dark sky like a sword through sheets of black. Seeing the light, he turned his head towards it, and pain clawed inside his head like a damned lightning strike. He groaned against it, willing it to go away.

"Oh! He's awake. Leonardo, fetch me the wet towel please."

Roy suddenly recognized the feminine voice as his mother, Vittoria, and the masculine one as his father, Leonardo. While the pain lessened, he wondered how his parents got here. Last he remembered was that Italy was far from Spain, far from the place he had his fall. If only he could remember why he fell, then that might calm him down.

He then felt something wet being softly wiped against his face, its cooling touch comforting to his senses. He recognized it as the wet towel and he smiled in pleasure as the pain eased and was replaced with a calming massage.

"Roy, can you open your eyes for your mama?" His mother asked. Roy obliged her, and when he did, he caught sight of her concerned face.

"Mama..." His words were barely above a whisper, but the force in them was clear. He saw tears pool in his mother's beautiful green eyes.

"My darling!" With a slight cry, she hugged him to her breast, all the while thanking God that he was alive. Roy half-grimaced, expecting the pain to return, but it didn't. Thinking it was a side-effect, Roy hugged his weary arms around his mother. An unexpected pair of arms joined their embrace, and Roy opened his eyes to see his father hugging them to his chest, tears trickling down his face.

"What happened?" Roy asked after their tearful embrace had ended. While his father stood off to the side, Roy looked around. "And are we in my room?"

"Yes, darling. Don't you remember your men bringing you here? They say that you awoke sometime during the travel, but maybe it was just a slight misunderstanding." His mother answered, her eyes gleaming with concern.

Roy wracked his brain, trying to remember the event that his mother recalled had happened. What must have been understanding was gone, replaced by an ominous emptiness that threatened to consume his mind. A part of him feared he might have lost his memory, but he remembered every other thing clearly. He remembered his childhood, his friends, his title, the women he had been with and he remembered going to Spain.

"No, I don't think I remember."

His mother watched him, growing concern in her eyes, before she smiled wearily and pressed a warm hand to the side of his face. "Perhaps that's good. There'll be no nightmares to scare you."

"Mama, I am thirty. I don't have nightmares."

His mother laughed a little, and Roy heard his father chuckle, before he pouted. His father stepped closer, laid a hand on his head, and smiled. "We'll never know, Roy. I recall a time when you screamed for your mama because of a nightmare! I think you were twenty-six..."

"Not funny, papa." Roy muttered heatedly, his cheeks taking a pink hue.

Their little banter halted into silence and Roy was just content to rest there, with his family, surrounded by the people who loved him and who he loved. He knew he'd do anything to protect them, even give up his life for them. They gave him so much in life, it was only fitting that he repay them somehow.

Slowly, his eyelids lowered and he took a last glance at the morning light. His senses were already getting dull, and when his mother said something, he lazily took one last effort to question.

"Have you found Riza?" His mother asked, a smile in her voice. Roy frowned as sleep slowly took him.

"Riza?"

He saw his mother nod as his eyelids fell, and he turned in his pillow.

"Who's Riza?"

Sleep took him.

* * *

"It seems that the Imperium Federation is preparing a vast army in order to invade us and our allies, Your Majesty. With our naval fleet still within the Pacific, we will be susceptible for a naval attack by the British forces." A subject spoke up, and the Czarina nodded as she listened to his words. Still, her thoughts were on her husband. Even though she knew that Alexander was not faithful to her, and had feelings for the Lady Catherine, she could not help feeling a bit uneasy about his disappearance. However, she could not let that fear overcome her. In a time without their Emperor, she was regent to a large Empire now on the verge of battle.

"Then we must contact our allies and inform them of this ominous news." She answered, her voice echoing in the great Throne Room. She would handle this just like how her husband would handle this: with vigilance, wit and caution.

She looked to another subject, whose physical features so resembled her late son that she held her breath as she looked at his face. She silently willed her heart to calm down and focused on the matter at hand. Later, will she allow herself to mourn.

"And there is also the matter of the revolutionaries, Your Majesty." One spoke.

Another subject continued. "They will target you, His Majesty the Czar and the royal family, now that the Imperium Federation is pressing up against us."

"The threats to your person are real, Your Majesty!" A subject, from the back, spoke up.

"And with the Czar in absence, Russia cannot lose you now, Your Majesty." Another subject, who was standing by the great gold pillars, announced. The Czarina let their concerns through before speaking.

She looked to the Prince Gorchakov, who had been Alexander's most trusted counselor. She addressed him. "Mikhail, how many dissenters are there in Russia?"

Mikhail, his gray hair combed back and arranging his spectacles, replied. "A few thousand, Your Majesty."

She nodded, and then turned to the court subjects waiting. "And what would you have me do, my lords? Randomly behead a thousand Russians? Or would you have me imprison every man, woman and child under our jurisdiction in order to safeguard my throne?"

They sat in stunned silence, before one had the temerity to speak. "Majesty, I mean no disrespect-"

She cut the subject off before he could speak finish his sentence. From the side, she saw Mikhail smile. "When my people break the law, they shall be punished. Until then, they will be protected."

"Protection is what you also must have, Your Majesty." Another subject, a Count perhaps, spoke out.

"Protection is also what this country needs, my lord. This country is the reason why this court meeting has been appointed. Put your thoughts there, and not where it is needed." With that, she put an end to their debate and made them focus their attention to what was urgent.

"Now, how many men are defending the Russian borders?"

"There are forty-thousand men by the borders that run along the line of Estonia; we have ten-thousand men guarding the borders by Vladivostok and our naval fleet run along thirty-thousand by the Pacific, Your Majesty." Mikhail answered from the court table to her side. She nodded at him, then glanced at the world map drawn and engraved on the marble floor. The court surrounded it, every subject inside circling it.

She stepped down from the throne, and down the steps, her violet dress swaying while she moved. She stepped into the circular world map on the floor, moving across Russia to stand in her center. From that point on, she scanned the lands across her country.

Alexander, what must I do?

"We must maneuver our naval forces from the Pacific and back to Russia. We then strengthen our border defenses. For the time being, defending our coast and land is crucial. How many men does Vittorio have?" She asked, as she surveyed the map.

"Ten-thousand men, Your Majesty, have been seen off crossing Greece." Mikhail answered. She nodded. "And how many does Victoria have?"

"The enemy has begun to mobilize their forces. A force of four-thousand men have been garrisoned in Norway, Majesty."

Fourteen-thousand men. She held a shudder. "And Napoleon? I'm sure he has allied France with Italy, by now. What about Lyra and her realms?"

Mikhail, by now, was standing and looked her directly in the eye. He then spoke, in a strong voice. "Majesty, if I dare tell you their numbers, I fear it will overwhelm you."

The whole courtroom was silent. Every subject was frozen to the spot, shocked and surprised by Mikhail's words. The Czarina stared at him, and then spoke in a voice that resembled his, if not stronger. "I ask again. What about Lyra and her realms?"

She saw Mikhail sigh, and then speak. Her blood ran cold. She could feel sweat clinging to her head, and back and her hands felt cold. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and raised her head. "So, in total, the Imperium Federation has a force eighty-four thousand men, not mentioning their naval forces?"

Mikhail, his eyes still on her, nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. If they pass through our land and naval defenses, they will overrun us."

"Then, we will meet them in battle. Disrupt their forces before they can gather enough to break through our borders."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Mikhail said, nodding again.

The Czarina knelt on the floor, her violet dress pooling around her. Her brown eyes were trained on the kingdom of France. She narrowed her eyes.

Alexander, where are you?

* * *

With her pen, Delphine Rothernburg wrote another line in her diary. Sitting on the plush velvet stool, she continued to write as the sun from behind window panes hid into the grey clouds. Saint Petersburg was in for a cold night.

"Delphine?" A quiet voice spoke her name, and she turned, her blonde hair swaying in her movement. It was the Czarina. "Here, my lady."

The Empress gestured for her to come as she went off to another hallway. Closing her diary, and putting it in a pocket of her dress, Delphine stood and followed her. Brushing off dirt from her teal dress, Delphine walked behind the trailing mauve long dress of the Empress. She wondered where they were going. Probably the Library. The Empress loved going there.

As they made turns and went up staircases, passed hallways, entered rooms and met dignitaries, Delphine found herself walking towards the Empress' chambers. She hurried down to walk a little bit behind the Czarina as they passed through great walls and pillars that seemed to tower on end. Draperies of almost every color, ranging from shimmering purples and fluorescent pink to gossamer crimson and diaphanous clair de lune. White banners gloated upon the ceiling as sunlight slashed from between them to attack with harmless light.

Guards posted stood rigidly as the Czarina entered her quarters, with Delphine following her.

"Let us discuss about Jean, Delphie."

* * *

_AN: Sorry I kinda broke my promise. I hope you all would still review ! Merci once again!_


	19. Chapter 19

_AN: Thanks to all those that reviewed my last chapter. Had fun writing it!_

_Anyway, moving to an important matter, I have, by suggestion of a friend, turned off or enabled the Anonymous Review. So you can all review my story without logging in. However, if my stories are subject to spam or any other form of literary abuse. Be warned._

_Come hell or high water, come God with a blinding wrath, come the Devil with a legion of demons, I will hunt you down. If YOU are responsible for ANY form of literary abuse of my stories, you have a lot more to worry about than me._

_I swear to God, to my soul, and to an executioner's gun if I ever may fail to fulfill this promise, that I will hunt you down and end you._

_Permanently._

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Chapter 19: Le Cirque de Marseille

In the royal city of Marseille, the imperial entourage in which Elizabeth partook in stopped by the 'Le Cirque de Marseille', a renowned traveling circus that has drawn multitudes to their performances. Their acts have been spoken recently, but not for the flair of extravagance the regular circus displays, but the subtle macabre of it all. One such act was a ballet performed by women in garish garments that portrayed the possession of a woman by an incubus. A lot of children that had seen the act were left traumatized.

Now, the entourage was seated within their own special viewing box, because of their renowned 'royalty' as gypsy nobles and their king. Inside the enormous tent, lamps were lit around like a series of tiny stars that shone with a soft resonance. Snapping his whip around like a stray tentacle was the circus master, dressed in a bright red vest, an impeccable white shirt with a lacy collar, dark brown trousers and black boots. His long black hair bounced as he circled around and with a wave of his dark red cape, announced the entrance of the next set of performers.

Elizabeth clapped alongside the others, yet with an ardor more sincere. She had never seen a circus before, much less attend one.

When the performers entered, her eyes trained on one of them. A man, who wore the same fabulous clothes as the other performers, stared at her. It was a chilling, cold stare. His eyes were glued on her from a hundred meters length. Elizabeth could feel the hair on her neck stand. Her mind reasoned that the performer was just staring at the entourage, not her. With that, she pulled a white kerchief threaded in gold and wiped it across her face.

When the entertainers began to perform, Elizabeth used the time to lean to Marianna. "Do you see that performer, on the lower right?"

Marianna, her blue eyes set on the performing area, leaned closer. "The one with long, curly brown hair and green eyes?"

Elizabeth nodded. Marianna whispered. "Yes. He has been staring at you ever since he entered alongside the performers."

Her words made Elizabeth sit up rigidly, the inner alarms inside her clanging like gongs. However, Fiona, who heard them talking, leaned towards her and said something that made her want to stand and run from the circus. "I have also seen three other people stare at you, Elizabeth."

"What?"

Fiona nodded, her hazel eyes looking somewhere off to the side. Elizabeth followed her gaze and turned. She gasped.

There were three people, two men and one woman, all dressed in Victorian clothing. The men were dressed in black, with coats and vests and cravats with their top hats on their laps. The woman wore a silky black dress that pooled around her like black ink. She wore a black hat that was decorated with dark flowers and a long veil. Their eyes were on her, and she knew that they were not staring at the entourage.

When Elizabeth turned back to Fiona, the other Sisters were now watching the three with wary expressions. Even the sweet, angelic Anastasia was staring fiercely at them. When she looked down, their hands were gripping their black batons tightly. She wondered how such weapons could protect anyone.

"Perhaps it is best that we leave." Elizabeth heard Dahlia say to the Mother Superior. When she turned, every member of the entourage was now looking at the three in the distance. She felt her hackles rise.

"Yes, I believe that is best." The Mother Superior said to Alexander, who nodded. With a knowing gaze from Alexander, the Chancellor raised his hand and the soldiers guarding them suddenly held their weapons. Slowly, the whole entourage began standing.

"This is becoming very tiring." Gracia muttered heatedly from behind her. Elizabeth almost nodded.

Silently, they cut into the crowd, the soldiers paving the way for them. Just as they were about to be consumed by the crowd, Elizabeth turned around and, to her horror, found that the three observers had disappeared.

That was when the feeling arose, the feeling that something wrong was going to happen. As she walked behind Alexander and Isabella, Elizabeth stepped closer to Marianna. From among the Sisters with them, it was she who was very approachable. "Marianna, they're gone."

Marianna's blue eyes scanned the crowd around them. Elizabeth followed her action and took in the explosion of coats, dresses and wigs that seemed to populate the majority of the French people and the French culture. Here and there, she saw gold dresses, and black coats and even long red hats, but there was no sign of black Victorian-clothing. No sign of a full black ensemble, or a group dressed in raven-colored tones. Instead, there was an inundation of every color imaginable.

"Elizabeth, I want you to listen to me." Marianna spoke from beside her in a quiet whisper. Suddenly, the crowed screamed and Elizabeth felt herself turn rigid. It took a moment for her to realize that the audience was cheering for the performers, as they then clapped their hands. She also didn't miss the way Marianna's eyes widened.

"What?"

"Do not turn or do anything that would make your presence known, but the three are behind us." Marianna said, and the words turned her blood cold. It suddenly occurred to her the extreme silence Alexander and Isabella put up. They, too, we're listening.

"How did you know, with your eyes looking forward?" She asked the Sister as the entourage made a turn and slammed into another crowd that parted for them.

Marianna turned slightly to look at her. "Fiona told me so. I, too, saw them when we turned."

Elizabeth's eyes had gone wide, and they turned to Sister Fiona, whose own hazel eyes were gazing at hers with a certitude that frightened her.

The entourage made their way out, now on high alert. Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream broke through the noise. Elizabeth tried to understand what the words were, but she had no time to think as a soldier nearby grabbed her and sprinted out alongside the Sisters.

Then she finally understood.

"ASSASSIN!"

At the same time, a lone gun shot was heard.

* * *

"It could have been the Imperium. No, I am sure that it was the Imperium. Who else would have recognized us, even in our disguises?" Jean announced as he paced around the table. After the sudden commotion in the Cirque de Marseille, the entourage had managed to escape from the scene, but with a price. The bullet, that was meant for Alexander, had killed Sister Fiona instead.

It was a quick death, and the Sister did not feel pain. A bullet to the head was more preferable death than a bullet to the gut, where it could lead to a slow, agonizing demise.

"I will have to agree with you, Jean. But, how did the Imperium know that we were even there in the first place? By God, no one has any idea where we are, except the whole entourage and the men killed in the ship." Alexander spoke from his place in the center of the table. Jean nodded his head; he agreed with the man. No one knew that they were even in Marseille, much more at the fact that they were the nomadic gypsy royalties. Unless...no, it was impossible. Everyone in the entourage would have been compromised. There could have been no traitor within their circle.

Unless, there was? The thought gave him chills.

"Yes, I too have wondered about that Alexander. It seemed that things have gone drastically unwell. I believe that it is of the utmost importance that we depart France and travel now, with haste, to Vienna. From there on, we can now travel to Saint Petersburg under the cover of Austria's army." Isabella said from her place opposite Alexander. Out of the corner of Jean's eyes, he could see the Chancellor nod in agreement. However, his thoughts were not on their words, but rather somewhere darker.

Traitors. There could no have been traitors inside their circle. He looked at Archer. Frank Archer was a man of power and station, and therefore may have wanted the power of the Czar. He had the most to gain out of Alexander's death, for surely he would have become regent. Yet, if he was the traitor, then he should have killed them during their escape from the Iglesia de Santa Juana de Arco. That, and the fact that he had been nothing but a great ally, crossed him out of Jean's list of possible double agents.

He eyed Isabella. The woman was a nun, but that did not deter the determination in her eyes. She would have also been the recipient of a good amount of fortune if Alexander died. But the Czar trusted the woman, and when the two would talk alone, she could have used the time to kill him, but she didn't. That crossed her out, too.

Elizabeth? No. The young woman hardly talked to anyone, and judging from the scenario a while ago, she would have become a casualty if not for Fiona's sacrifice. Lastly, Jean thought of the three remaining Sisters. The three women, always clad in either red or white, were the most suspicious. They were the last to join them, and even though Isabella trusted them, Jean didn't. He didn't become the head of the Emperor's personal guards by trusting beautiful women. No, he had lived his life with caution and vigilance. Now his gut is telling him that the Sisters were not to be trusted fully. Until they prove themselves otherwise, he would have to keep a close eye on them.

He thought of the two others: Maes Hughes and Gracia. The two were quiet people, who often busied themselves with arranging personal matters such as food and lodging. While Gracia was somewhat the de facto head of the servants, Maes was more on the diplomatic side of things. The Emperor would send him in advance, along with a small company of soldiers, to the next city or town and arrange for them lodging. It seemed being a dignitary was Maes' forte.

While Gracia could be crossed out of the list, Jean was hesitant to do so about Maes. The man could have been tired of always being in the line of danger, and perhaps wanted freedom for himself and his soon-to-be wife. He could have arranged the almost-assassination inside the Cirque de Marseille. But, if Elizabeth trusted the two of them fully, then he would have to. Though he would still keep an eye on them.

Good God, the game was getting harder by the minute, and he feared the outcome. He feared for the future, if the enemy would win. He feared that by then, perhaps all of them will be buried under sixty feet of earth.

* * *

_AN: I'm sorry for the hiatus that I had taken, but I do deserve the break after posting four updates in a week. SO, no complains._


	20. Chapter 20

_AN: A big hello to everyone! I'd like to thank everyone who had reviewed my last chapter. I'm actually a bit excited for the series right now since things are beginning to heat up. I swear the tension is going to kill me! I mean, I've already written the first three chapters for the last novel. God, I feel like eating caviar. Anyway, if you have noticed, the Royal Phantasm won't end with a twenty chapters like COTD, 'cause this will be much longer. So, reviews!_

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Chapter 20: The Alferez

As the course of the royal entourage continued towards the distant city of Geneva, a young man atop a horse scrutinized the moving caravan as it climbed a slope slowly. He eyed the familiar Russian men that maneuvered the carriages, silently recognizing the men as acquaintances of his brother. Slowly, he came down from his side of the mountain and traveled down a route that stood close to the coming carriages.

Once the men saw sight of him, they stopped and raised their guns. The men were very familiar, but their clothing was not. It was a mixture of nomadic garments and Russian jewels. It reminded him of gypsies. Bowing slightly, the alferez came down his horse and spoke in perfect Russian.

"A pleasant morning, good sirs. I believe that His Majesty is here?"

The men all stared at him, their guns raised. One of them, a tall handsome man with blond hair, and perhaps of high rank, stood and motioned for his men to lower their weapons. The blond man turned back to him and stared at the alferez with deep azure eyes, eyes that stared at him with a dawning comprehension.

The blond man stepped off from his carriage and came close, his eyes trained on him, his gloved hands in the pockets of his black coat, probably pointing a gun from underneath the cloth. He then stood only a few meters away, and there the alferez noticed that the blond man was young and quite amiable looking.

"In the name of the Boris Vladisvaya, King of the Gypsies, I ask for your name and purpose." The blond man said, his voice cold and hard. The alferez blinked.

"Gypsies? I thought this was a Russian caravan?" He asked, earning a glare from the blond man. The alferez knew how to fight, as he would have not become an alferez if he didn't, but he knew that he was no match against what seemed to be a small platoon. Those men would have shot him milliseconds faster than he could draw the revolver from his belt.

"No, this is a gypsy caravan and if you do not answer my question, I swear that by the next second your carcass will be filled with bullets." The man responded in his cold, quiet voice. It shook the alferez to his core.

"My name is Alphonse Elric, and I am the brother of His Majesty's emissary." The alferez answered in a small voice, his gaze wary and his gloved hand itching to turn the horse around.

"Elric? You're Edward's brother? How did you know we were here?"

"Yes, I'm Edward's younger brother. I was stationed in Spain when a message from a Russian lady named Delphine Rothernburg arrived and commanded me, under the power of the Russian regent, to look for any traveling vehicle headed by a blond Russian man. It took many weeks for me to catch up with you, and I almost caught you in Marseille when the firing happened and the entourage escaped. I took a chance and went ahead of you, hoping to intercept you. I think I was right."

After his explanation, the man looked at Alphonse with an even gaze, almost like the man was thinking where to shoot Alphonse. The alferez swallowed.

However, he caught the small quirking of the man's lips. "Delphine Rothernburg?" He asked. Alphonse nodded.

"Yes, she was Her Majesty's courtlady and she instructed me that a man would recognize her name once I say it. I do believe that man is you, sir?" Alphonse asked, his dark hazel eyes trained on the blond man.

"That is probably true." Was all the man's reply.

"Then she also told me to tell you that you must hurry to Russia as the enemy forces now continue to advance towards the motherland. She also told me to tell you that she loves you greatly, and fears for your safety very much. You are blessed to have a woman like her, sir." Alphonse said, hoping that the man would believe him. His words might have struck a chord inside the man, as the young soldier was now smiling greatly. Then the smile faded and was replaced by a silent threat.

"I still do not believe you, Alphonse. As the First Lieutenant to the Imperial Guard, I will have to place you under custody until we deem the matter of your honesty."

Alphonse blinked. Did he really need to take it that far? What about Edward? Shouldn't they at least inform him?

"What about my brother? Can you call him?" Alphonse asked, intent on seeing him.

The man turned and looked at him with an even, yet somber gaze. "When we were in Barcelona, our enemies found us there and attacked us. They burned the ship and so we had to go on by land. I am not certain, but I fear that your brother was one of the unlucky ones to have been left aboard the ship. I am sorry, but I believe Edward Elric is dead."

Alphonse stared. His brother...dead?

* * *

The land of England was small, in comparison to the other great European nations that filled the upper portion of the world. Yet, despite it's surface minuteness, it is home to an influential monarchy and outstanding military. In 1588, the Spanish Armada sought to conquer the small island and overthrow the reigning Protestant state, thereby plotting to execute its head Queen Elizabeth who was the daughter of King Henry Tudor and his ill-fated wife, Queen Anne Boleyn. Spain suffered a humiliating defeat as her Armada was unable to complete its mission, her ships crashing upon the rocks and destroyed by the fiery English storms. From that on, England remained a superpower.

Now, the English army prepares its forces against the might of Russia and her allies. Despite being a small army, the English military was known for its remarkable skill within and without battle. As such, the Queen's army now march proudly towards the coasts of England as they wait to board their ships. From there on, they would then ride through the English Channel and traverse through the lands of her ally Queen Lyra Volvera.

Russia's fate now dims as a great army organizes itself to wage war upon the Eastern Empire. What hope is there left for the cold motherland?


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: Wow, I finally reached the 100-review thingy. I don't know why I wrote this, 'cause I never really asked at all, but oh well. Anyway, I just read this novella called "ghostgirl" and I found it quite amusing. I like it's twists and content, though I don't really like Young Adult themes. Anyway, on with the story!_

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Chapter 21: Souls in Torment

Roy walked carefully towards his place on the high table at an elevated dais in the cavernous Banquet Room of King Vittorio of Italy, aware of the still recovering wound on the left side of his abdomen. Men and women of rank greeted and bowed to him as they passed him, he returning the greeting in kind. When his coal eyes trained themselves on the table, he eyed the King talking to another noble. As soon as he got to the table, the King stopped his conversation and greeted him.

"Roy, please sit down. The feast is about to start."

"Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty. Though war troubles us, we should continue to enjoy life and give thanks to the Lord for all his blessings." Roy replied, smiling at the man. The King smiled as well as he began a new conversation with the other noble. Roy contented himself with observing the people inside the room.

There were the lords of the lands under Italy present. Some were Dukes, a position he once held before being raised to a Prince, and others were of lesser ranks such as Counts and Barons. They wore expensive garments of different color, from fur to silk. Jewels shone from their places among rings, necklaces, brooches, caps and even boots. Most looked fierce and imperial like Julius Caesar, others portly yet dignified like Henry Tudor, some handsome and charming like Alexander the Great.

There were also present the women of rank, who were no less courtly like their male counterparts. He recognized the Marchesa de Milan, and the Contessa de Sicily. He also saw the ravishing Baronessa de Sicily, who with her fair complexion, luxurious sienna hair and radiant grey-blue eyes, captured the affectionate admiration of almost every man in the room, even Roy's. Long, trailing dresses covered all of them, some wearing shawls while others opted for the common bolero. Frills, ruffles and lace were everywhere, causing Roy to imagine that he was at the sight of a dressmaker's shop's destructive demise.

"How do you fare this night, Roy?" The King suddenly asked, his voice suddenly close. Roy started and then calmed, smiling sheepishly at the King before answering.

"Perfectly content, Your Majesty. Now that we have organized the army and only one step away from delivering justice, I can safely say that tonight is a night of festivity to our soldiers. As I was on my way here, I saw our men frolic and celebrate. I hope that this will not be the last feast they can partake in." Roy answered in his cool, baritone voice. The King nodded thoughtfully at his words, pausing only once at Roy's mention of "justice".

"I hope so, too. God knows how I fear sending those men to battle. Only His Lordship knows what will happen on the eve of battle, now that I have received word from Lyra that our army will strike deep into Russia's nether regions, her infernal capital known as Saint Petersburg." The King said, his voice taking a harsh tone. All the while, ignorant to their confidential conversation, the banquet continued. Now, the final guests were beginning to arrive at last.

"We will continue this later, _amico mio_. The banquet will begin." The King said as he stood, his resplendent garments of aubergine and scarlet marking him as His Majesty. Everyone began to quiet down, their eyes now looking at the King. Roy watched from his position beside the man.

"My lords and ladies, tonight is the feast of a woman of great integrity. This night, we will celebrate the remembering of a woman, whose valiant courage and unending faith in God, cleaved a path for her in then battle-stricken France." He began, everyone looking at him, savoring his words. The King looked around silently, the tension rising.

"It seems just to celebrate the feast day of a military saint, is it not? Now that we are at war, it seems honorable to our men, our soldiers, to celebrate this last night of peace in honor of a woman whose divine purpose was to free her country from oppressors. Under God's loving hand, Jeanne d'Arc marched bravely into the cold arms of war-borne death and battled mortal and immortal evil, as was her deific duty. Though she has not yet been canonized as a Saint, it seems just to honor her no less. She suffered the cruelty of human hearts, and died at the stake. But God did not leave her, no. He took her from the world that she tried to save, and brought her to His home: Heaven." His words struck everyone to the spot. The King continued nonetheless.

"God is merciful, God is just. God is forgiving, God is loving. I believe, with the greatest faith and I do hope that I do this out of love for my men and not out of pride, that God will protect us. I believe that God will protect our men and our country. I believe that God will forgive us our sins, and that He will accept us into His Kingdom openly." The King proclaimed, his words stunning all.

"To the east lies the wicked nation of Russia, our enemy. With her cumbrous army and unchristian ideals, she strikes the very heart of our nation, killing our Crown Prince. We will not tolerate this nefariousness! We will not tolerate this extreme violation of human life! God forbid man to kill, and Russia had broken His Commandment. Now, God sends His Army through us, through Britain and through the various lands who have seen the evils of Russia and sought to send her back to her damning Hell!"

He banged his fist on top of the table, the plates jumping as well as everyone else, including Roy. The King pointed east as he bellowed in a loud powerful voice that seemed to echo God's Wrath. "As a Christian, I detest the act of murder as much as Our Lord detests the sin. I will do anything to ensure peace, other than kill a person. I believe that everyone has a right to life, and that no one can be a master of another one. But the stench of Russia's evil so great, so set that it reaches to Heaven to make even the Angels vomit in horror! God forbid, I will not let this growing evil cocoon itself upon other nations any longer. As of this night, the End of Russia begins!" His sincere proclamation, the death of his son echoing the wake of his words, brought out the greatest support from the audience. Cheers and claps were so loud that Roy resisted the urge to cup his ears. The nobles were on their feet, clapping and cheering as they all repeated his words. Even the bourgeoisie agreed to contribute part of their income of their businesses to support the army.

Roy watched all of them celebrate as the King called in the servants to bring in the food for the banquet. He turned his head to look at the moon through an ornate window, eliciting an evanescent memory of a woman with golden hair and brown eyes.

Roy stilled in his seat. He had not thought of his _fantasma_ since a few days ago. At times, his phantom lady would appear in his mind, each having a different set of emotions on her ethereal face. After he had recovered from his fall a few weeks ago, the phantasmagoria had begun sporadically. When he was able enough to ride a horse, and had taken a leisurely trot in his family's dense forest, his _fantasma_ appeared with a statuesque face that showed a small trace of contentedness. During a visit to Rome to speak with his physician, he saw her again in his mind, a beautiful smile on her lips and a glowing shine in her eyes. The most recent one was frankly the most disturbing of all. When Roy had seen her face in his thoughts, he remembered feeling cold inside out.

That was when he was traveling here, to the King's Royal Palace, his otherworldy Juliet coalesced in his mind, her face a striking mask of horrible fear. Her eyes were wide with dread, and her lips pale and trembling. Roy had been struck to his spot, his hands trembling. Remembering it now made Roy nervous, but he hid it up behind a cool mask. But, inside, he knew he was dreading the next time his _fantasma_ would appear.

* * *

Anna loved summer because it was the only time of the year that everything didn't feel so cold all the time. Living in the cold country of Austria, Anna loved the heat as much as any other ten-year old girl would. Jumping excitedly as she skipped along the grass, her brown braids hopping, Anna basked in the heat as she watched the tall mountains with their white spikes.

From inside her house, Anna could hear her mother singing as she cooked their breakfast. Knowing that it was still later, Anna continued to play in the grass. When she got near to a tree, something cawed eerily that made Anna stop and look up. On one large branch was a black bird that her father called a raven. She watched it curiously, having never seen a bird like this ever.

People told her that ravens were mischievous creatures and that they were said to be omens of doom and disaster. Anna could safely say that they were partly right whenever the raven cawed. The sound was quite creepy and Anna preferred to run back home. But something made her stop. In the distance, she could hear the sound of what seemed to be like war drums.

* * *

Delphine ended the letter with her perfunctory signature. She read it once again, and this time she enunciated the words perfectly as if she had never written them down in the first place.

_Dear Jean,_

_I hope that this message reach you with the utmost haste, for I fear what will happen if it does not. I will get straight to the point. This letter bears no idle talk or chat of longing, instead it holds matters of war. After you read this, I ask that you give this to His Majesty the Czar. Her Majesty, the Empress Regent, is in dire need of his assistance and presence. The Palace has received word that Italy has mobilized its forces and has attacked the borders of our ally Austria. Russian sentries stationed in Austria return to our Motherland as if their feet were burned, bringing ghastly news that Italian army is larger and armament-superior than our strategists predicted. Our troops are still not enough, as most are still recovering from the uprisings and our naval fleet are still ill-prepared to battle our naval foes._

_Jean, you have to convince the Czar to return to Russia. The people, the state and the Empress needs him. We all need him. If he does not return, then I fear this will be the end of the Russian Empire. This dynasty that Peter the Great painfully constructed will have been for naught, if the enemy overwhelms our defenses and lay siege to our great nation. They bring with them the Inquisition and the Malleus Maleficarum, as if we were the Protestants and they the Spanish Conquistadores. Yet the truth is clear: if we are defeated in battle, then we will fall under their power. Imagine our cities, our beautiful Saint Petersburg destroyed and burned by men who know nothing of us. It is the greatest mockery!_

_Please Jean, you have to convince His Majesty to return with haste. Our home lies in his hands._

_With much love,_  
_Delphine Rothernburg_

_Written at the ninth hour after night's mid on the second day of May within the walls of the Winter Palace_

It took all of her will not to break into sobs as she remembered what the Czarina said. She knew that the woman had not said it out of malice, but out of the need to tell the truth. The Italians were coming, vengeance riding with them. All it took was to wipe out the border defenses and smite the heart of Russia then all was lost. They need no cause, only vengeance thrust them into battle with the motherland.

As soon as she had folded the letter and sealed it with wax, Delphine stood and left her room in search of the royal courier. On the way, guards and servants and lords bowed to her as she passed them, returning the greeting in kind. Once she had arrived at the emissary's room, Delphine knocked on the door. She waited for a moment, the silence overbearing. There was no sound from within until she heard muffled steps coming closer.

The door opened. A blond boy's head peeked out. Delphine held out the letter.

"Edward, Her Majesty has asked me to send a letter to First Lieutenant of the Imperial Guard. The Empress has said that the letter will be treated as official and confidential material, and must therefore be carried only by the Palace Courier. I trust that you will not fail us in this dark time." After her words, Edward nodded and took the letter silently, his gold-brown eyes on the parchment.

"Yes, my lady." Edward replied in his usual cold voice. Delphine did not falter as the boy stepped back and shut the door in her face. With her mission done, Delphine's mind sought some modicum of comfort. She knew that only Jean could give her that which she desired as of the moment. But he was off somewhere in France. Yet, there was a place where his presence was as clear as the sky. Delphine made way to that place.

As she hurried down flights of stairs and labyrinths of hallways, Delphine focused on getting to the Palace Gardens without delay. Once she had passed the great double doors, she slowed down to calm her heart and breathing. Soft sunlight peeked from the leaden sky, as if the heavens carved a small hole to watch the world through. The gold, warm light embraced her as she stepped out of the Palace and into the Gardens.

The green grass felt soft underneath her shoes, and the cool breeze lifted her gold hair. Her breath came out in wisps, and she made her way to the special place in the Gardens that was always hers and Jean's. She hurried as she passed blooming flowers and statues and benches. She passed birds and other animals scurrying around the Gardens, all intent on getting out of her way. Once she had reached the large tree, Delphine stopped and slowly circled it, her fingers trailing the hard trunk.

When she got to the other side of the tree, she saw the writings on it. There, on the center of the trunk, was carved the words "Wait for that wisest of all counselors, Time.". Delphine's fingers traced the hard trunk, despondently remembering the firmness of Jean's muscular chest. She sighed softly before sliding down towards the grass and roots. She laid her back on the tree, wishing it was Jean instead, and that this was one of their happy moments of solitude together.

She wished for the days when there was nothing but peace and tranquility; she wished for the days of courting and secret glances and clandestine touches; she wished for the furtive smiles, the promises of love and the consummation of it.

Delphine looked up to the sky, watching the clouds drift by. They were gray, never black, and never white. They were always stratus clouds, never nimbus nor cirrus but always stratus. They were either too low, or too high and never just right. Perhaps it was the irregularity of it, the ever-changing inconsistency that secretly hid a consistency within that so fascinated her. Clouds were never frank, so to speak.

Perhaps the unique and chaotic serenity of the gray stormbearers was the reason why both she and Jean loved this place. It was the only spot where one can see all of the sky underneath a natural shade.

When the clouds moved, and a gap was created, the crystal blue sky peered through. For one moment, one desperate moment, Delphine thought she had seen Jean's blue eyes.

Delphine looked around, noting that there was a quietude around the Palace that was not uncommon. Knowing that she would not be needed for a while and a promise to return to the Palace by an hour, Delphine's caramel eyes slowly shut as she slept among the flowers, among the colors of light fallen to the ground.

* * *

As Roy was about to step out of the Banquet Room and into the open balcony, a soft yet firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Startled for a bit, Roy turned to find the Baronessa de Sicily behind him. The Baronessa's glowing grey-blue eyes gazed at him kindly, her luxuriant sienna hair tumbling around her like brown thread. She smiled at him gently, not trace of deceit or malign intent on her smile or on her fair face.

"Good evening, my lady." Roy said, as he bowed and took her hand to kiss upon her knuckles. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Baronessa's grey-blue eyes momentarily blink. As a Prince, it was unnecessary for Roy to give a traditional greeting to men and women below his station, but he chose to honor the beautiful woman before him with a gesture of chivalry. Again, the face of his blond _fantasma_ appeared once more before fading to the recesses of his mind.

"It is indeed a fine night, Your Highness." The Baronessa replied in her soft voice. When he gestured towards the balcony, she nodded and linked her arm with his as they stepped out together. Once outside, the Baronessa shivered as the cold wind blew at her. Concerned, Roy took off his coat and laid it around the woman's bare shoulders. The Baronessa said her thanks in her ghostly-like voice.

"What may I do for you tonight, my lady?" Roy asked, curious about her purpose. The Baronessa smiled her kind smile at him before answering. "Your Highness, please address me as Diana."

"Only if you address me as Roy." He said, his smile on his lips. The Baronessa looked as if he had shot someone.

"Your Highness! I can't do that! I am below you're station!" She said in a raised voice but was still in a whisper. She really was fond in speaking in hushed tones.

"Then I cannot address you as Diana if you will not address me by name." Roy countered. The Baronessa remained silent, her gaze out towards gardens darkened by night yet illuminated partially by the moon. It was an enchanting scenery. At morn's light, the gardens looked vivacious and life-blooming like the dance of a girl amidst fields. At night and in the care of the moon, the gardens looked like a mystical and secretive forest filled with mind's imagination. It was a place so serene that not even the noise of the party inside the Palace could damage it. Then, out of a moment of silence and consideration, the Baronessa began in her soft voice which Roy now know to be her usual.

"Roy, do you have a love?" The question shocked Roy, at the very least. It was innocent, naive and...hopeful. Roy turned to look at the woman beside him whose gaze was on his, her fair complexion lighted by the moon, giving it an otherworldy glow. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end.

"No, I do not. Why do you ask, Diana?" Truthfully, he had not a love in the longest time. Sure he had the comforts of women, but he did not have the emotional passion and devotion which was love. Diana nodded and turned to gaze at the fantasy-like garden.

"There is-We are friends, aren't we Roy?" Diana asked in her timid voice.

"Of course, Diana. Sicily had been a great asset to Tuscany during our time of troubles. You helped us in our troubles, even when your land was suffering from a famine. Anyone who would do such a generous and selfless act for my land, not only deserves the people's respect and admiration, but also mine. Feel free to ask me anything, Diana. Friends share trust and also share concern." Roy replied, honesty dripping in every word like honey in every pie.

Diana smiled gratefully before returning to her words, by then her face had lost its twinkle and was replaced by confusion and fear. "There is a man who is wanting to court me. He is smart, wealthy, titled, handsome and very kind. We met during a ball in Sicily that my father hosted before his forty-fifth birthday. Since that occasion, he had contacted me and we became friends. Just this week, a few days ago, he confessed that he loved me greatly and had asked if I was willing to give him a chance to act on that love. He asked if I was willing to allow him to court me."

Roy noted the pause and filled in the silence with his own words. "I may not have a love, but I do know a little about it. The first question would be, do you care for him?"

Diana nodded, ready for the question. "Yes, I do. I care for him more than a friend cares for another friend."

Roy asked another question. "Do you love him?"

This time, Diana paused and reflected for a moment. Roy could see through her contemplative grey-blue eyes that her mind was remembering memories and past events that clearly had something to do with this 'man'. Then, Diana looked at him, her eyes vulnerable and open. "Yes, I love him. I love him so much that it hurts sometimes."

Then, Roy moved to ask the most important question. He lowered his voice to a concerned tone and asked. "Then, what is stopping you from being with that man?"

Roy wondered why they were having this conversation. Even though they were friends in the relative sense, matters of the heart were supposed to be a subject only the closest of friendships should touch. But by then, Diana's eyes filled with tears as she took a deep breath. "My father. He is stopping me. Though Richard is titled, my father desires for me to wed into a higher house. He says that if we elope, he will disown me and remove my rights and titles to our lands. I do not care for my title and I fear not leaving my home, but where will I go? Richard cannot accommodate me for his land is undergoing a shortage in their exports. I cannot even ask of him to welcome me to his home, that would be too intrusive of me."

Roy looked at the agonizing woman beside him. She was torn between love and logic and it was breaking her. Roy recalled the air of indifference she had displayed throughout the banquet, and he silently commended her for her bravery. If Roy had been in her place, he would not have attended the banquet at all, choosing instead to hide in his room. But no, Diana chose to stand and face the world, even when hers was falling apart. How it must hurt to be torn between loving someone and appeasing somebody else.

"Deliver a letter to your Richard and tell him that he is to come to my estate. Also, deliver another letter to your servants and tell them to pack all your things and move them to my estate." Roy suddenly announced as he thought of other precautions. Diana stared at him as if he had grown another head.

"What?" He asked. Diana blinked.

"Roy-What-Why-I don't know what to say." Diana stuttered. Roy smiled. "There is nothing to say, Diana. I wondered that if I had been in your place, would you be willing to help me? I can see in your eyes that you would, so I chose to open my doors to you."

Then Diana was hugging him, all decorum gone as she seized him in her arms and began to sob happily. Roy felt a growing contentment in his heart; he was doing a right thing. It suddenly made him feel purposeful to have made the lives of two lovers all the better. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, his _fantasma_ smiled and nodded beautifully.

"Thank you, Roy. Thank you, _amico mio_!" Diana said, her voice muffled with tears. Roy smiled in response.

"No one should be the master of another, my friend. Your life is yours, and yours alone."


	22. Chapter 22

_AN: This is the twenty-second chapter. Hope you all review._

* * *

Chapter 22: The Lodestar

After a fortnight had passed, Roy now oversaw the transporting of Diana's things into his manor. Coaches upon coaches entered through the gates to deliver his friend's clothes and toiletry, some of them being drawn with as much as four horses. When a royal blue carriage, drawn by two regal white horses, came through his gates, Roy knew that it was the Baronessa. Stepping down from his position amidst the columns, Roy waited as the carriage halted to a stop a few meters from him. The door opened, and Diana came out. She wore an immaculate white dress, with white gloves and a matching hat that was assorted with wild, beautiful flowers. Her sienna hair shone like ochre in the morning light and her ethereal grey-blue eyes were radiant. She smiled luminously at him, like the dawn of a dazzling morning.

"Hello, Diana. How fare you this day?" Roy asked as he raised his arm to link hers with his.

Diana's smile was like diamonds. "Perfection at its fittest. Richard is coming this afternoon, and I am so excited for you to meet him."

Roy grinned at her, smiling at the love in her eyes when she said her lover's name. "Yes, for only an exemplary man deserves a woman of such fine specimen."

"Oh, you spoil me, amico mio." Diana said, slapping him in the arm with her gloved hand.

Together, they stepped into his manor. Roy's servants arranged for Diana's things to be moved to the Petit Villa just behind his large palace. They went to the parlor, and with the servants bringing food and beverages, the two of them talked for hours on end. From what he had heard, Diana's lover Richard was from the House of Hanover, a relative to the British Queen Victoria, and was the Earl of Essex. He was born in London, and was educated by a governess from Queen Victoria's staff. After Diana's tale, Roy concluded that the man they would meet would be smart and intelligent.

When noon came and went with the passing wind, the afternoon followed suit. It was a quarter after two when Roy and Diana transferred to the veranda to enjoy the cool wind and admire the landscape. A little after that, a silver-lined carriage halted outside the gate. Roy stood, causing Diana to stand as well and gaze at where he was looking. From the corner of his eye, he saw Diana smile radiantly, looking almost like a seraphim.

Together, they watched as the staff allowed the carriage to enter. Before the carriage could move, a servant appeared from the archway and informed them that the Earl of Essex has arrived and is being attended to as per order. Roy watched the shine in Diana's eyes, and suddenly felt lonely. He wondered what it felt to be in love, but his thoughts were strayed far from it as he motioned for Diana to greet Richard.

Richard was, in Roy's terms, a bit of a mythic hero. The Earl of Essex was tall, possibly taller than Roy, with handsome features. He had a chiseled jawline, a prominent chin, broad cheeks and startlingly penetrant green eyes. His blond hair was styled in a fashion that enhanced his features and fell about his nape. Richard was broad-shouldered, and wore a blue coat and a white shirt underneath. All in all, he looked impressive.

When his green eyes landed on Diana, they softened immediately with what Roy knew as unchanging love and adoration. There was a beautiful smile on his face, and it was matched equally with Diana's own radiant smile.

"Richard," Roy began informally. "welcome to my home. I am Roy Mustang, and it is an honor to meet you." Roy held out his hand, and Richard smiled at him affably before taking his hand.

"Your Majesty, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking care of my Diana. Your Majesty, if there-"

Roy cut him off before he could continue. "Richard, if I hear you call me anything but Roy, I will personally see to it that you are locked up and tied upside down while I take a long stroll outside."

Richard's face flushed before smiling widely. "Of course, Your-I mean, Roy. Thank you so much. What you did means so much to me! If there is anything I can do..."

Roy laughed and looked at Diana, who with her hands behind her, smiled and watched them converse as if she was some faraway place and that they could not see her. "One thing only, Richard."

"What is that, Roy?"

Roy turned back to the man, and looked into his eyes. "Go kiss her."

Richard grinned, and gazed lovingly, slavishly at the Baronessa. Then, not even caring that Roy was there, he took long strides towards Diana, enfolded her in his muscular arms and kissed her deeply, passionately.

* * *

Elizabeth had no idea how the entourage managed to survive after ambushes and sudden raids. But here it was, the caravan slowly entering the city of Vienna. She could see the platoon of soldiers guarding the gates to the city, see them manning the mortars and cannons and pointing them at the caravan. She shuddered as she thought of the consequences if the soldiers fired. From her point of view, the artillery battery was highly armed.

She watched as the first caravan stopped and Jean went out to speak with the head soldier. They stood there, talking, with Jean making hand gestures. After a moment, the head soldier nodded and saluted Jean. He returned it, before going up the caravan. They were back on the move as the carriages began to drive on.

The Sch nbrunn Palace was a white edifice upon the blue horizon, with it's yellow painted walls and white columns. The deep violet color of the roofs were overlooked, as Elizabeth gaped at the large garden in front of the palace. Palace servants went to and fro, trimming the grass and watering the flowers in their white uniforms.

The Archduke who met them was a tall, powerful man. He had a styled moustache and wore the usual Austrian uniform for nobles. He was an astounding figure, creased with age but nonetheless imposing. He welcomed the weary ensemble into his palace and let them rest. It was only for a few days before the Czar wanted the expedition to continue.

It was a speedy journey, with a formal ensemble of Austrian troops ready to guard them on their journey to Saint Petersburg. It was while they were within the outskirts of the Russian borders when one of their guards noticed something amiss.

Elizabeth, finally back in her normal clothes, had been reading in her carriage when she noticed the guard coming towards them, his sword drawn out. The guard approached Jean and muttered something in his ear, causing the blond man to stiffen. Then, without signal, Jean led the Czar's carriage faster, the wheels banging loudly against the rocky ground.

Seeing the head caravan moving faster, the others behind it soon followed and a whole train of carriages were moving fast, perilously close to crashing into each other.

Elizabeth, surprised by the sudden movement, stumbled unto the carriage floor, her blonde hair whipping out in front of her like an ethereal yellow veil. Clutching the window ledge, Elizabeth used her free hand to swipe away the hair on her face and watched the scene unfolding outside.

Trees turned into green and brown blurs as the carriage sped past, the sound of hooves and wheels against earth resembling thunder. The afternoon sky was darkening, the calm blue firmament turning into gloomy night. Darkness had crept on the side of light, and had now enveloped the murky forests in its dark prison. The mountains had turned into shadowed sentinels of stone, and the warm wind into chilly breaths of ice.

The coachmen had drawn their lamps and lighted them, the feeble orange radiance lighting but a small patch of the darkness. Their escort had unsheathed their swords and loaded their guns, preparing to fight at the slightest view of opposition.

Alarm and panic welled up inside Elizabeth. She looked away from the window and began to look inside her trunk. When she felt the cool metal, Elizabeth immediately grabbed the item and fished it out of the trunk.

The silver gun shone in the orange light.

Jean had given it to her when he found out that she only held a knife in defense. He had taught her how to use it, how to aim and shoot. He had been impressed with her sharpshooting ability. He said that, when the time would come, she should use it wisely.

Elizabeth thought that there was no better time than now.

The moment she drew the gun, the sound of gun shots filled the air. At the same time, the carriage toppled to the side, the screams of horses loud in the air. Elizabeth was thrown back, hitting the ceiling of the carriage. She groaned out in pain, but when she saw the bed flying towards her, ready to crush her, Elizabeth rolled away. The bed slammed into the wall, crushing and pulverizing it. It didn't take a genius to know that the horses carrying her carriage had been shot.

Several gun shots were also heard, and a familiar voice ordering troops to open fire on the enemy. As Jean commanded his soldiers to kill the attackers, Elizabeth had gathered her wits and reached for the carriage door. She kicked it open, the door slamming against the carriage wall. She hoisted herself out of the fallen vehicle and looked around.

Carnage and madness, like twin rivers of death streaming into the melting pot of war, exploded all around her like the sudden waves of a ferocious sea storm. Shots erupted from all sides, colliding into each other like flashing bursts of steel light. And as Elizabeth turned, her blonde hair flying out, her eyes came in contact with a hooded man facing her. She looked down.

A gun was pointed at her.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: **_Usually, it would take about a week for me to update this story. But, frankly speaking, I am not in the mood for last few days and so have to ultimately place this story on a temporary hiatus. This may be the latest chapter you will read for a while, but fret not. I am set on finishing this story. But, I would like to concentrate on my other story called "Luna"._

_Many thanks for those who loved, liked and read this story._

* * *

Chapter 23: La Dame Blanche

Seconds, memories and moments passed like the dust in a breeze. Everything in her memory seemed to bloom with a unique light, as if knowing that this was probably a lasting gift before she met the gates of Hades. It's quite funny how life seems like an hourglass. We never know when it shall end, but we do know that it will.

Ever since she was young, Elizabeth had, from time to time, imagined what her death would be like. Would she suffocate under the hands of Poseidon and his domain, the sea? Would she be like the Vestales, whose celibacy was treated as sacrosanct and of which it's defilement a sacrilege and worthy of vivisepulture? Or will Death bestow upon her his kindness and grace and reap the summers of her life by bringing her to an old, ripe demise?

But, for the life of her, she had never dreamed, never idealized and never thought of as to die, as to leave the world of life through the cold end of a revolver.

The world seemed to burn with chaos as noise and madness blasted around her. But to the blonde woman whose life now hung at the balance of the gun, everything seemed to dull into silence. The man holding the gun was staunch and unyielding. This was no assassin sent to murder the Emperor. This was a man sent personally to kill her.

Elizabeth had no time to aim her gun at the man before her. He would kill her before she could even move. Stuck with thinking what to do, Elizabeth thought about running and was about to do it when a voice stilled her, and the man.

"You will not harm her." Isabella's frigid voice broke the silence, and the gun she placed at the man's temple fired. Viscera, blood and brain exploded, a vivid red mist bursting through the air. Before the body had fallen, Elizabeth had gripped Isabella's outstretched hand and together they fought their way through the chaos.

Shooting came as easily to Elizabeth as breathing, and she didn't even flinch as body after body fell beneath her gun. Many months ago, Elizabeth would have been greatly horrified at what she was doing. However, after much near-death experiences, her resolve had turned steel and pushed her to survive.

Hand in hand, both women fought through the masses. The sound of gunshots filled the air, and the sky turned bloody with death. As they made their way through the crowd, Elizabeth kept an eye on the Emperor's carriage. It had stopped and was surrounded by a squadron of soldiers. The men were defending the carriage against the attackers.

Elizabeth gasped as a bullet flew past her, almost taking her out. Looking ahead, she saw the shooter reload his musket. But before he could use it again, Elizabeth raised her revolver, took aim, and fired. She did not wait to watch the bullet as she took off after Isabella. The sound of the man's groans was proof enough that he had been hit.

"Elizabeth! What in God's name are you doing!" She turned to see Jean fighting his way to her. His blue uniform was ripped and his cheek was stained in blood. Blond hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were dark with concentration. He had his sword out, the blade red with ichor. As he jumped over a dead horse, Jean turned and shot with his gun, killing a man before he could raise his weapon.

Elizabeth turned to the side and shot as another attacker whipped past her, aiming for Jean. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Having reached her by then, Jean took her hand and forced her away from the scene. He dragged her past the ring of soldiers guarding the Emperor, his eyes never straying from the battlefield. All around them, the soldiers battled fiercely with their attackers. Their numbers were gradually decreasing, and it seemed that there was an indefinite amount of attackers. Their Austrian guards were decreasing, dying one by one.

When Jean opened the carriage door and pushed her in, Elizabeth looked up to see the Czar, Gracia, Maes and the three other Sisters standing inside. There was also a blond boy in the corner, who looked quite familiar, but Elizabeth had no time to ponder as Jean yelled for the coach to take off.

The carriage rocked violently, throwing them all to the ground as it sped away precariously. The horses neighed loudly as the sounds of gunshots whizzed past them, hitting trees and boulders. A couple of bullets managed to pierce the upper side of the carriage but it didn't faze the consistency of the carriage. Outside, Elizabeth could see the blue lapel of Jean's coat as it swayed madly in the wind.

Then, a horrible thought came to her mind: Isabella.

Tapping into an unknown reserve of strength, Elizabeth grasped the door handle and opened it, screaming for the Mother Superior's name. Jean turned around sharply, surprised at her screaming. Elizabeth grabbed his coat and pulled him closer.

"Where's Isabella?" Elizabeth asked as she looked outside.

"She's fine. She's riding the horse behind us." Jean said loudly, pausing to take aim and shoot. A distant groan was all they heard next. Elizabeth turned her head to see the Mother Superior, in her white dress, coming towards them atop a grey horse.

"Get inside, Elizabeth!" Jean growled as he aimed another bullet at an incoming attacker. She did not was time as she grabbed his coat and pulled him in before locking the door. With them inside, Elizabeth held on to a chair before she fell to the carriage floor. She breathed deeply as the carriage shook and carried them onwards.

It was now a chase to the death.

* * *

The silence slithered through the thick grove of trees as Roy rode his horse slowly. His steed's powerful legs thumped quietly on the leaf-carpeted ground and the gentle wind caressed his skin like the tendrils of a mysterious entity.

His dreams, if they were to be called dreams and not delusions of a broken mind, had gotten more frequent and spontaneous. He kept on seeing this blonde woman, this _fantasma_, and recently, these visions began to include him. They were no longer only visions of her, but foreign sceneries of him and his phantom lady. Some were of chase, as he saw himself pursue his _fantasma_ through fields of flowers or carpeted hallways; others were romantic in nature, such that of him and his lady tangled together, arms locked in a passionate embrace; and others were serene and tranquil, of him and her gazing at dark and mysterious forests that held secrets of which only nothingness knew.

Roy hadn't told anyone of his visions. He feared that he would be labeled mad.

The green scenery around him remained silent as his horse trudged against bushes and flora. The scattered spaces of the leaves left patches of light on the ground. The shining shafts of light remained still as Roy made his horse pass through the thick chorus of leaves and plants.

The calm of the atmosphere brought a much needed peace to his mind. Recently, Roy had worked himself to exhaustion, balancing his role as Prince alongside being one of the commanders to lead the army against Russia and his side-distraction of a delusion. He hadn't slept well for days, and just last night, he had awoken a few hours past midnight, a time still too early to wake to.

There was also the suspicion that his parents were hiding something from him. Time to time, he'd find them, especially his dear mother, gazing at him with knowing eyes. Eyes that seemed to ponder something beyond his memory's reach. It must have something to do with the name her mother asked him of when he had first awakened from his sleep; the sleep that which he had slipped into after the dreaded literal fall from grace.

When he tried to reminisce of that day, all he got was the name '_Riza_'. He didn't know anyone who held this name. After he had recovered from that day, Roy had requested a list of all personnel in both his and his father's possession. There were people like Eleanor, Leonora, Alena, Gracia, Elizabeth and others of such, but there was none that resembled the name '_Riza_'.

But Riza was now a minority. There were more pressing thoughts on his mind. When he was well enough to return to his duties, His Majesty the King had requested a council of _all_ nobles from across the realm of Italy. The council meeting was of the most important matter: the looming battle with the Imperial state of Russia. In that meeting, everything was debated and discussed over: positions among the army, budgeting, food, transportation, tactics, defenses and everything vital in the midst of a tension-induced courtroom filled with the whole of the nobility.

Roy was tasked by the King to lead the main bulk of the army into Russia by land. Since Roy had a lot of experience in war and was, by all means, a clever strategist, the King saw it fit to give him the rank of _generale di corpo d'armata, _the direct second-in-command after the _Generale_, the King.

Ever since then, Roy had been drowning in his duties. He had made his men train under harsh conditions, forcing them to be able to adapt well to any situation. They were to battle on the chilly plains of Russia, not on the warm soil of mother Italy. As such, he had his men force themselves to be able to adapt to any situation. He had trained them to be able to survive the notorious elements of Mother Earth herself like rain, heat, winter, food shortage and natural weather storms. He also had his men divide themselves into small groups that were able to survive on their own without communication and reinforcements, making them learn how to use their surroundings to their advantages.

He also taught his men to employ many tactics, psychological or military. Soon, his soldiers would be trained enough to meet the Russians head-on. The Russians had a reputation for being tenacious and rough, but their numbers were now diminished after a recent skirmish with one of their enemies. Not only that, but there was also the matter of the great multitudes of soldiers coming from England and the realms of Queen Lyra. France had now also prepared her men for the inevitable fight.

As Roy exited a grove of trees, the scenery distorted and dissolved. He turned his head, stunned and alarmed, staring wide-eyed at the grey walls, the tall statues of men and women in religious poses, the halls of gold and stone and light.

He turned around; suddenly realizing that his horse was gone and so was the forest behind him. It was disconcerting and confusing, and there was a throbbing at the back of his head that was beginning to pain him. Light; crepuscular rays of illumination slashed their way through tall columns of gold and stone. The ground beneath him was no longer soft with soil but stable and concrete with stone. The unseeing eyes of the statues of saints and angels seemed to stare at him, and he found the whole ordeal maddening.

Was he experiencing another delusion? Was this some distant recollection of his past?

The throbbing in his head intensified as he began to remember some of the things around him. Tidbits of information began to kindle and grow inside his mind, connecting the dots of memory that were once blurred and shaken.

The transmogrification was stupefying. He began to feel certain emotions tied to his surroundings. Fear, anger, pain, betrayal and hurt echoed inside him, leaving him in a sweaty mess. Images of nuns and Sisters and a woman dressed in grey processed in his mind with unbelievable speed, confounding him into a pool of anxiety.

Brown eyes.

Roy gasped as pain wracked his brain like a lance of lightning through his system. The moment he recalled eyes the color of caramel the agony had suddenly exploded in his brain. Try as he might, even against the pain, Roy couldn't interpret everything that was happening in his thoughts. It was a phantasmagoria that left him reeling from the utter pain, confusion and panic.

"Damn it!" Roy hissed as the pain dropped him to his knees, his hands gripping his hair madly. The pain was madness-inducing. It was like burning venom in his blood, unable to be released and singed tirelessly against his nerves. Onyx eyes, wide with desperation, searched around for anything that could numb the pain.

His eyes locked towards the hall before him, and his breath hitched alongside the pain. There was a person, a woman, whose back was turned to him, a long braid of blonde hair laid limp against her shoulder blades. She wore a dark grey dress that rested at her ankles, of which black-heeled boots appeared.

When the figure turned, Roy's mouth fell as the pain returned a thousand-fold.

He shut his eyes in complete anguish. That was his mistake. Swirling black and white shapes swam in his vision once he closed his eyes. He began to feel cold and was now shaking in distress. Sweat continued to roll over him, unaffected by the chill that he felt. How could he still sweat when he felt like he was in the Antarctic?

Roy opened his eyes and watched the woman, his _fantasma_, continue to watch him in interest. He reached a hand to her, gesturing for help. The pain left him moaning in agony, unable to formulate anything coherent enough for her to understand.

The dark blanket of unconsciousness swept him up in a high tide, his eyes shutting close. He faintly noted his body toppling over and his head hitting something soft. Everything else faded away into the inky black.

* * *

The sound of a door being opened caused Roy to stir in his sleep. Waking, Roy slowly opened his eyes to greet the powdery blue paint of his bedroom. Sunlight passed through the large windows and into the silent room, filtered by gossamer white draperies. There was a light breeze that entered his room, causing the draperies to sway faintly. It wasn't too cold and made Roy feel a bit sleepy.

Raising a hand to rub his eyes, Roy sat up slowly and noted that he was now in his sleeping garments, a thin blanket draped over his body until it came to his middle. When the door creaked louder, Roy looked up to see a maid replacing the azaleas in one ornate vase with a bouquet of sunflowers. He liked the sunflowers, they added a bit of cheer into the silent, almost eerie room.

"How long was I asleep?" His voice startled the maid, who turned and bowed.

"Since yesterday afternoon, Your Highness." The maid answered, standing by the door. Roy raised a hand, and the maid bowed once more before exiting the room. Roy sighed as he turned his eyes towards the windows, looking past the white draperies and to the gardens beyond.

When the door creaked open, Roy saw Diana enter the room in a dark green dress, Richard close at her heels. She smiled, seeing he was awake, and sat on a chair across his bed. The Earl, looking lordly in an ebony suit, stood by her, arms behind his back.

"What happened?" Roy asked immediately, a frown crossing his features.

Diana's brows furrowed. "You do not remember anything?"

Roy shook his head, not wanting to disclose about his delusions of a blonde woman.

Diana sighed and shared a look with Richard, whose green eyes were comfortingly supportive. Diana turned back to him and recalled the events in her singular silken voice.

"Yesterday afternoon, you told us that you would go riding by the gardens. You said that you'd be back by evening. Well, dusk came and you still had not returned. Richard asked some guards to look for you. They found you, unconscious and on the ground, shaking. They carried you back here, where you had then stopped convulsing and slept. I sent a letter to the royal physician, and he's on his way now."

Roy nodded at the information. He noted that Diana was looking at him with a concerned expression. He raised a brow. "What is it?"

Instead of Diana answering, Richard spoke in lieu of her, apparently thinking the same thing as the Baronessa remained silent. "Do you remember why you fainted?"

Roy took a deep breath. He did not want to tell them about his hallucinations, but things were getting abnormal now. He knew that his friends were concerned for him, and it took all his willpower not to blurt out everything. He needed them now. He didn't want to scare them off with his delusions.

"I- I think I was remembering something when my head start to hurt. It was probably a strong headache." Roy replied, inwardly wincing at his lame attempt at lying.

The two were unconvinced, and Richard spoke. "A strong headache? Strong enough to leave you shaking as if you were experiencing a seizure?"

"I don't know, alright?" Roy grumbled, glaring at his hands. He heard a sigh escape Richard, and looked up to see Diana squeezing his hand. A small wave of nostalgia hit him as he continued to look at the enamored couple's joined hands.

"Everything will become clear once the physician has arrived. For now, we'll have to content with the fact that Roy's back." Diana said, smiling.

* * *

Elizabeth turned sharply to the side as a noise echoed across the quiet forest. The soldiers halted from their pacing and watched the gathering darkness in between the trees with growing caution. The calm of the trees was distressing. It was too calm.

The Mother Superior appeared by her side, Sister Marianna a few steps behind, watching the trees. "Would you mind helping me wash some of my clothes by the river?"

Elizabeth shook her head as she followed Isabella. "No, I'm happy to help."

The Mother Superior gave her a grateful smile before grabbing a small bag and making her way past the soldiers and servants preparing the area for a night. Jean had suggested that they take as little time as possible in stopping for rest as their pursuers might catch up with them.

Silently, Elizabeth followed the woman as they both went downhill towards the river. Even at a distance, they could hear the gentle lapping of the waves as it hit against the shore. Two soldiers turned to flank them, with Sister Marianna walking behind them a few ways off. Elizabeth knew, for a fact, that Jean had instructed the two soldiers to escort them anywhere. It was, after all, dangerous for women to wander at night.

When they finally emerged from the grove of trees, Elizabeth gazed at the blue water streaming before her. The Mother Superior stepped close and placed her bag on the ground, opening it to rummage for clothes ready to be washed. Elizabeth crouched next to her and began piling the clothes on a small blanket that Isabella brought. Behind them, their guards patrolled the area. The two were keeping a lookout on both sides, with the red-clad Sister standing on a dais, gazing around.

The two women busied themselves cleaning the pile of clothes. Elizabeth noted that the river water was a bit lighter in color than the rivers they had encountered in the past. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face as Isabella asked what was wrong.

"Oh, I was just wondering why the river looks so blue instead of green."

Isabella gave a smile as she submerged a white dress into the cold water. "That's because we're higher closer to the roof of the world, dear."

Elizabeth frowned. "What do you mean?

"We're in Russia, Elizabeth. The climate changes as we travel farther up the world. The air becomes colder, the sky a bit grayer and the water a bit bluer." Isabella answered as she scrubbed at a dirty spot on her dress.

Elizabeth had noticed the changes as well. She never realized that they were now into Russia. It did seem a bit colder, causing Elizabeth to tighten the coat around her. She also noted the way her breath came out in wisps.

"Are you cold, my dear?" The woman asked. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Not that much. The coat is actually quite warm."

"If you insist..."

Silence ensued as they continued to do their task. Soon, the pile of clothes to be washed was beginning to lessen. The river water was also beginning to lap loudly and severely against the boulders by the shore. The sky began to darken, and the forests began to grow black. From the distance, Elizabeth could see faint orange light from between the trees and knew that the camp was now set. One of the soldiers who were guarding them set a lamp alight, helping Elizabeth see in the growing darkness.

"Are you scared, Elizabeth?" The Mother Superior questioned.

"Of what is happening?"

The woman nodded. Elizabeth contemplated on her answer. Was she terrified?

"Not really. Of course I am terrified of dying but I'm not afraid of the fighting and all that. It must be because I grew up fighting. I don't get scared easily by bloodshed or violence."

Isabella stood as she stretched her legs. "You must be a brave woman to not be scared by war."

Elizabeth laughed at her words. "Brave? Me? I do not know anything about that. All I know is that my childhood helped build my person."

"Really? How so?"

As Elizabeth began to pack the clothes in the bag, the waves began to rock loudly against the shore. It was beginning to get hard talking without raising her voice. "Well, I have no idea who my parents are since they left me by the city I grew up in. The realization of my being an orphan motivated me to become independent and survive."

"Abandoned, hmm?" Isabella absently muttered as she gazed at the darkness beyond.

"Yes. Though I do not begrudge them of that, I would like an explanation as to why. I, at least, deserved to know why they did not see it fit to grow under their care."

"So, you have never felt any form of hate or dislike for their actions, even when you did not know the reasons why?"

Elizabeth nodded as she closed the bag and stood up to stretch her muscles. "Yes. What's done is done and cannot be undone. I try not to waste my time and life being hateful or bitter. Instead, I use that as motivation to become a better person."

Isabella turned to stare at Elizabeth with her penetrating sapphirine eyes. There was a knowing look there, as if the woman held secrets to her heart. That was true, though. Isabella danced around the truth as to her person. 'Till now, Elizabeth did not fully know who the woman before her was or is.

"You are a rare person, Elizabeth."

There was a slight hesitation after her name, as if there was something, perhaps a surname, to add. Elizabeth noted that and was about to say something when Isabella outspoke her.

"Why do we not have this conversation on a normal day?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Well, taking in the situation, there is nothing normal today or any other day. I hardly find being chased by murderers to be something conventional."

Isabella smiled, amused. "True, true."

It was time to get some answers. "Isabella-"

Elizabeth had no time to finish her words as two shots burst in the air. Her eyes widened as she watched her two guards fall to the ground, a bullet to their hearts. Isabella had backed away from the river and stood before Elizabeth, shielding her with the woman's body. From behind, Sister Marianna had jumped from her dais and was now standing by the two, a knife in her hand.

Elizabeth's heart hammered in her chest as three men emerged from the forest by the other side of the shore. She knew, without a doubt, that these were some of their pursuers. They had their guns out and were pointing it at them.

"What do you want?" Isabella shouted, taking a stand.

"I think you already know what we want, Mother Superior." The man, whom Elizabeth took to be the leader of the gang, spoke. "We want you dead. All of you."

Elizabeth's breath hitched.

Without ceremony, Sister Marianna drew out a pistol. One of the men had seen this and shot the Sister through the head. Blood burst out of the woman's head, brown hair flying.

"Marianna!" Isabella gasped as the body of the dead Sister fell to the ground before her, blue eyes glaring at them. Elizabeth felt sickened. Tears gathered in her eyes as she watched the blood empty from Marianna's body. Elizabeth had begun to get attached to the Sister.

Isabella turned her head sharply towards Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, listen. The moment I distract them, you run. Am I understood?"

Elizabeth turned wide eyes towards the nun. "What? No!"

"No, you must do what I say. The men will shoot the moment I move, and they would need to rearm their guns. You must use that time to escape and return to camp."

Looking into sapphirine eyes, iron with determination, Elizabeth nodded. There was nothing she could do. She prayed that Jean and his soldiers would arrive, fast. The men before them had now moved to stand by the shoreline, guns still out but lowered now. They seemed to talk with themselves about what to do with the two of them.

When Isabella gave a nod, Elizabeth slowly and furtively turned behind. "NOW!"

Heart beating like it would burst, she took off with such speed as she heard the men shout and a splash explode. Gunfire roared, and Elizabeth made the mistake of looking back.

Isabella had jumped into the river and was now being shot down by the men.

"ISABELLA!" Elizabeth cried as she ran back, not caring about what Isabella ordered her to do. The men stopped firing at the river and aimed their guns at her. She froze in mid-step.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Rose." Their leader sneered as he cocked the gun at her head. Elizabeth's brows came down. Rose? What did he mean?

A gurgling noise picked up Elizabeth's attention. She looked down at the river and saw a pale white hand clutch at a boulder. Elizabeth sighed in relief. Isabella was alright.

"Perhaps it is time to pluck the flower." The man said, not noticing the still-alive nun. As he aimed the gun at Elizabeth, a familiar voice roared from behind her.

"_FIRE!"_

A volley of shots erupted from behind and Elizabeth watched the three men stagger and topple. She did not waste time gaping as she ran down towards the river and grabbed at the hand. She brought Isabella to the surface, the woman clutching at her tightly, her yellow hair limp against her shoulders.

Elizabeth's smile fell as she took in the red blotch by the woman's breast. She had been shot.

"Call the doctors, the surgeons! Isabella's shot!" Elizabeth screamed at the soldiers behind her. She watched Jean ordering in rapid Russian. When a coughing sound brought her eyes down, Elizabeth held back a sob. Blood was spilling out of the nun's mouth.

"There i-is no hope for me, y-young one." The nun muttered, her voice faint.

Elizabeth shook her head madly, trying not to drown in panic. "No, no, no. You'll be alright, Isabella. The doctors are on their way now. You just have to hang on. Please, Isabella. Don't give up now, please."

Amidst the pain, Isabella smiled a crooked smile. "You are so brave. Your f-father would have been s-so proud."

Elizabeth's mind registered her words faintly as she began to tear up at the sight of more blood filling up the woman's white dress. Isabella gripped Elizabeth tighter and pulled her close. She opened her mouth and blood spilled out, only to be washed away by the waves.

"I-I love you, my daughter. Stay safe, Ivanova."

Then Isabella was letting go. Elizabeth wailed, trying in might to catch the woman from being swept away by the tide. She stood, ready to jump after Isabella but strong arms held her back by the waist.

"NO! NO! Let me go! She needs me!" Elizabeth shrieked as she fought at the arms that held her back, calling for the dame blanche that was now being carried away by the tides.

"Elizabeth, she's gone! She's gone! There is nothing you could do. She's gone!" Jean whispered fiercely into her ears. Elizabeth shook her head, her voice dying out.

"No. Please, no." She tried to hold back the ragged sobs ready to burst but she failed. The now silent air was shattered by her cries, by her own shrieks of anguish.

"No! Come back, please!"

Jean's arms tightened around her as Elizabeth's knees gave out, tears streaming down her face. He fell to a knee as he held her close while she mourned for the woman now buried by waves of water.

"She's not coming back, Elizabeth. You're mother is not coming back."

* * *

**AN:** _So, all of you might be wondering "where the hell was he?". I also got to say that I am very disappointed in myself for not updating sooner. i thought that since it is now summer, I get to have more time, but lo and behold, hectic schedule. Now that college's in the corner, I am toooo busy to update as application form after application form come smacking me in the face. It's also not helping that recently I no longer seem to have any motivation to write. There's not a lot of good inspiration lately. After all, it took me a month and half just to finish this chapter. Dear God, help me. So, if you still like me, then I'd like reviews please? :)_

_and like I said, I'D love to concentrate more on "Luna", so this story is taking another temporary hiatus as of late. So, I would really appreciate it if you would take some time to read my other story. Don't worry, "Luna" is a Royai fic. MORE Royai than this, I believe. :)_


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: **_So, I thought about posting another chapter so that everyone who read can refresh their memories. After all, it's been a while since I've posted. Many thanks for those who took a part of their time to review. Your reviews, no matter how short they may be, made me feel __**alive**__ for this story. So, thumbs-up! _

_Oh, and before I forget: I'd like to suggest that for the reading of this chapter, it would be more prudent and lavish for the imagination if you were to listen to __**"DIVINITY THEME" by A.R. RAHMAN from the movie ELIZABETH: THE GOLDEN AGE.**__ Prepare yourself for a series of awesome ear-orgasms since most of my chapters are made when I listen to the movie (Elizabeth: The Golden Age) soundtrack. \m/_

_**ALSO, THIS IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE NOTE. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MANY ALTERATIONS OF REAL-WORLD HISTORY. SO, IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY ALTERATIONS AND SUCH, I SUGGEST YOU LEAVE. NOW!**_

_And yes, the chapter title is a song by __**Within Temptation**__. Very nice, very symphonic and symbolizes the gist of this three stories. Oh, and I'd like to say that this chapter will answer __**all**__ of your questions regarding The Rose, The Imperium, Isabella de Saint-Claire and the origins of Elizabeth Hawkeye._

_Enjoy the 24__th__ chapter! :)_

* * *

Chapter 24: The Truth Beneath The Rose

"_ISABELLA! MOTHER! Somebody help her!_"

Roy blinked, eyes wide with trepidation. His head sharply turned to the sides, looking around. Did he just hear a scream? But when he noted the deafening silence of the manor, then it must be from his imagination. Somehow, a part of his mind told him otherwise.

If someone screamed like that, that could only mean that whoever this person was, he or she was hurt or needed help. Roy stood, gripping the back of a chair nearby for support. He made a move to clothe himself, removing the nightshirt that he had been dressed in.

He watched himself in the mirror as he dressed, muscles white and glistening with sweat from the chilly scream that he now believed he had heard. It had been a while since he had last exercised, and Roy felt an inner satisfaction at seeing that his body was not that bad.

Inserting his arms into the sleeves of his coat, Roy made way towards the door. Leaving his room, Roy glanced around the antechamber. There was no one but the beige walls, the tall portraits, the large crystal chandelier and a series of plush divans and chairs.

Before he could leave the antechamber, however, Roy was stopped by a maid. When she entered, Roy was in the process of pulling the door. Once she saw that he was up and about, she fussed.

"Signor Mustang, what are you doing? You are sick and tired! You should not be about! Miss Diana will surely not stand for this!" The maid exclaimed, intent on pushing him back to his room. Roy rolled his eyes and tried to outskirt the woman.

"I am fine, Apollya. Now, I need to get out. Somebody is hurt and I need to help that person." Roy reasoned when the woman moved to block him from going out. Apollya was an old maid of his, who started her work when he was but five. She had sort of become his guardian. Wherever he went, Apollya would be there in what temporary residence he was staying in.

"Hurt, you say? Who, signor Mustang?" Apollya asked, hands on her hips. Roy sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"I don't know. I heard a scream and it sounded like the person needed help." He reasoned out.

Apollya raised a brow, her face momentarily shocked. "You heard a scream?"

Roy nodded, tapping his foot. "Yes, and if you don't let me out, whoever—"

"Nobody screamed, signor."

His foot-tapping ceased, surprise clouding his face. "This is not the time to jest, Apollya."

"Signor, if I may be so bold, but perhaps _you_ may be the one jesting."

Roy blinked. "Me?"

Apollya nodded. "Yes, sir. If anyone else heard this supposed scream, wouldn't the whole lot of the house be in a storm, searching for the origin of the scream?"

"I…uh, I guess you're right." Roy conceded, though his conscience still stood by its thought that someone _did_ scream. Was this some sort of delusion? If so, Roy mentally cringed at what was wrong with him. Had he gone mad?

He slowly loped back to his bed and sat on it, his eyes not seeing the brown floor as he thought about the things and events that had happened to him. Where was the Roy that was so active, so smiling, so full of life? The Roy that he saw in the mirror was confused and stressed.

"Rory," Apollya began, using the nick name that she had made for him all those many years ago, when childhood fantasy was still high in the sky. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Roy sighed, momentarily warmed by his former-nurse's concern. "I don't know, Appy. Everything seems so frustrating, lately. There are things happening to me that I don't understand. I keep on remembering events and people whom I do not recognize. Have I finally gone mad, Appy?"

Apollya, who had loved Roy like her own son, was struck silent by the tone of absolute dejection in his voice. The young man seemed to have aged a great deal. Those vibrant eyes that shone like black diamonds in his childhood were dull now, his skin pale and clammy and there were dark bags underneath his eyes. A year ago, Roy was _alive_. Now, he was a shell of a man.

Of course, there was the matter of his romance with one of the staff. Elizabeth—Apollya wasn't quite sure—had, if rumours were to be believed, held a great deal of Roy's heart. Then, there came the scandal of robbery and the disgrace of the courtier, who of which had fled the city and was never heard from again.

Apollya, at the moment, was about to speak of it when the door opened and the Baronessa of Sicily entered, along with an elderly man in a brown coat and wearing a bowler hat. Seeing the grey-eyed guest of the house enter the room, Apollya stood and was about to exit the room when said Baronessa elegantly held out an arm and halted her from moving.

"Why don't you stay, Apollya? Roy needs all the moral support he can get, right now." With that, the two women set themselves in the room, Apollya sitting next to Roy and Diana on a chair by the window.

"Roy, this is Doctor Winchester. He's a top specialist on ailments focusing on the mental and physical effects on the human body. Richard suggested him since he is the best in his field and he lived near Milan, anyway." Diana said, gesturing a hand to the elderly man, who nodded to him.

Perplexed, Roy frowned but returned the man's gesture. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"The pleasure is all mine, Signor Mustang. I believe you have been experiencing a mild form of seizure, correct?" The Doctor asked, to the point.

Roy nodded, not seeing where this was going. The Doctor took out a notebook and scribbled something with a pencil. After he was done, the man peered at him strongly, the man's light blue eyes lending a penetrating effect on the man's gaze.

"Signor, before I came here, I inquired your family physician in the Citta Della Quattro Santa and what those records told me is that you have no, absolutely no history of any sort of mental malady." Doctor Winchester said.

"Yes, I believe you're right." Roy nodded.

"So, this seizure of yours must have come from another catalyst, then?"

"I think so." Roy answered softly. Apollya took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Have you had any recent injury, any major injury that might have set off this seizure of yours?"

Roy looked towards Apollya, and to Diana who was sitting there, looking on. "A few weeks ago—from what my men told me—I had fallen into gorge."

Roy took hold of his inner shirt and pulled, displaying the still-dark reddish wound that afflicted a large part of his abdomen. It stood in contrast with his pale skin. Apollya stiffened considerably once she saw the large burn.

"Dear God! Roy, you never told me it was _that_ severe!" Apollya scolded.

He saw Diana nod from her position. "I agree. You could have died from that."

But the doctor on the other side was not that interested on the wound. Instead, he seemed lost in thought before he spoke again. "Signor Mustang, you said you fell into a gorge. Why does that wound seem like a burn?"

Roy let the shirt fall back into place as he answered Doctor Winchester's question. "My men said—from what they recall—that a large and sharp rock had pierced me by the side. The impalement was not deep but I had lost a lot of blood, by then. The men burned the wound close before they transported me back to Italy."

From his side, Apollya sighed. "A part of me dearly wishes to chain you to your room, Roy."

Roy scowled. "It wasn't _that_ bad, Apollya. It's just a minor and superficial wound. For all we know, I could have been mauled by a bear."

"That still does not excuse the fact that you _fell_ into a gorge, Roy." Apollya scolded.

Diana, who had been quiet the entire time, spoke. "Speaking of that, _why_ did you fall into a gorge Roy? I understand if it was because your horse went barking mad and threw you over, but you had to be near the gorge to fall into it. Why were you near a gorge in the first place?

Roy sighed and tried to answer her question, when his mind suddenly went blank. He frowned. Why did he go near the gorge in the first place? What could have made him approach the place? He remembered that he was riding—something that he did when he was angry or confused—across the forest and by the cliff. He recalled hearing his men pleading with him to slow down.

He recalled making his horse jump over a small ravine and he remembered landing safely by the other side. What could it be…

Brown eyes.

His own eyes widened.

"My God." Was all he could say.

"What? What is it?" Apolly asked.

"Roy, what is the matter?" Diana followed up.

"Signor Mustang, have you recalled something?" Doctor Winchester asked, his hands stilling.

"Brown eyes." Roy said, causing a cloud of confusion to cover the three people in the room.

Apollya turned to the Doctor and to Diana. "Brown eyes? What is he talking about?"

Diana shook her head. "I have no idea, Apollya. Roy, what do you mean by 'brown eyes'?"

"She had brown eyes—the woman in my dreams—she had them." Roy explained as his blanched and his breathing hitched. The Doctor stared in alarm. "Dreams?"

"Yes, Doctor Winchester. I—I—" Was it time to tell them? Perhaps it was. Roy dearly hoped that his friends wouldn't think him mad for it. "When I was riding in the garden yesterday, I remembered something."

"Remembering? I see now." The Doctor said, writing down a few notes on his pad.

Roy's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Signor, your men told me that you went to Spain a few weeks back. Is that correct?"

Roy nodded. "Yes."

"It was also there, somewhere near Barcelona, that you had your accident. Correct?"

Roy leaned back against the pillows. "Yes, but I do not see what this had to do with—"

"Signor Mustang, can you tell me why you went to Spain in the first place?"

Roy shrugged. "That's simple. I—"

"You what, signor?"

Roy swallowed. "I—I—I…am afraid I don't know, Doctor."

"You don't know or you don't remember?"

Roy's gaze flew downward. "I…don't remember."

Then, the elder man closed his notes and gazed at Roy penetratingly. "I believe you are suffering from amnesia, signor. Amnesia which was caused by the fall."

Amnesia? Now that explained his so-called _visions_. "Care to explain, Doctor?"

"Certainly. Usually, during fall accidents, the victim suffers broken bones or lacerations or even death."

Roy gave another nod. "I know. My physician told me that, along with my abdomen wound, I also suffered from a dislocated shoulder and a fractured leg. The brunt of the impact was halted when I fell on top of my horse. Sad to say, the horse died protecting me from dying as well."

For a moment, he felt sadness. That horse had been his favorite…for some reason he couldn't remember.

"Well, aside from that signor, there is also the fact that when your head suffered from the concussion due to the fall, this disrupted the flow of oxygen to your brain. That, in itself, is dangerous."

"Why?" Roy asked, sitting up. The two women also followed suit, intent on the Doctor's words.

"What I mean to say, signor Mustang, is when your brain is cut off from a steady supply of oxygen for a period of time, irreparable damage is incurred."

Roy felt like vomiting. "So…you mean to say that I may not remember at all?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Oh no. That is only for severe cases. However, just to be sure, can you answer a question of mine?"

"Of course, Doctor."

"During your seizure yesterday, did you remember anything?"

Roy stilled, his heartbeat rising. His mind went back to that moment—that moment within grey walls and halls of light and statues, of a blonde woman in a grey dress.

"Yes, Doctor. I recall being in a place that looked like a church, with grey walls and gold columns. I think it was the Church of Saint John or something."

"Saint Jeanne D'Arc, Roy." Diana quietly spoke from the said.

Roy's head snapped towards her. "Yes, I believe that's the name. How do you know?"

Diana smiled, but it was not a happy smile. "It is the only church within the vicinity of where you fell, Roy."

"So, that's that, signor Mustang. Your memory is starting to come back. From what I know, you might remember everything in a bit of a time. Perhaps a few months?"

"A few months?" Roy asked helplessly. He needed to remember the blonde woman. She seemed…important to him.

"Yes, at most. The process can be sped up, though. You just need to engage in mental stimulation. You know, interacting with people or events that may bring up more memories. I believe that your riding yesterday caused your brain to bring up memories. Be careful though. Your seizure yesterday, caused by the backing up of your memories, can be dangerous when you are alone. You could choke on your spit."

The Doctor stood and bowed to Roy. "I then take my leave, Your Highness. It has been a pleasure."

"Thank you very much, Doctor. You have no idea how much you helped me." Roy replied sincerely, extending an arm to the physician. The elder man took it and shook. Apollya stood and escorted the Doctor out, explaining to him where to receive his payment.

Diana stood as well and walked near Roy. "You should rest, Roy. Perhaps you might remember more when you sleep."

Roy nodded and laid on the bed. He looked at the Baronessa. "Where is Richard, anyway?"

Diana shrugged, a genuine smile forming on her lips. "Last I heard, he was trying to rest. He didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Now that I think about it, so did I."

Roy groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Did you do what I think you did?"

She giggled. "Roy, whatever are you talking about?"

"Go! Sleep! Eat! Find something to do! Leave me, woman. I do not need more visions of you and your lover in…various positions that are in no way related to politics." Roy half-shouted.

Diana laughed. "Alright. Seriously, though. Get some sleep. I'll be in the sitting room when you wake."

Roy made a sound to show his acquiescence. When he heard the door shut, Roy sighed and opened his eyes and removed his hands from his face. He knew he would get no sleep now. Thoughts of a fair blonde woman echoed in his mind.

* * *

The fire roared silently before her, trying its best to warm her, but its effort were thwarted when Elizabeth did not even notice it. Shivering slightly, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her, eyes locked on the flames but her thoughts faraway. There was only a cold numbness inside her, a great void that seemed to suck out all the feeling in her.

Isabella.

The woman, the Mother Superior…was her mother. Her real, blood-related _mother_. The woman who was as sturdy as stone and as cold as ice and as warm as the sun was her mother. The woman who was now underneath ferocious waves, dead and lost to the world.

Elizabeth shivered. Her mother was dead.

She had just met, just realized, that Isabella was her mother for a few brief seconds, before the raging river had took her from the world of the living.

She should be angry, she should be sad, in mourning. Damn it, she should _feel_ something.

But she didn't.

Elizabeth felt nothing. No sadness, no rage, no horror. It seemed that all her emotions were locked away, lost and forgotten. Her heart had been battered enough, hurt enough that it shut down and simply shriveled.

"Elizabeth?" A tentative voice asked and she turned to face the speaker.

Jean was behind her, his face a cautious mask of concern. His eyes were troubled and he seemed unsure of what to do. If Elizabeth had been in his position, she'd be the same, albeit she'd at least manage to smile.

She idly wondered if she could still find the energy to even smile.

"Yes?" A dead, blank voice spoke. It took Elizabeth a moment to realize that it was _her_ voice.

At this, Jean stepped closer and crouched, still in his blue uniform. He brushed his blond hair back with his fingers, a manner Elizabeth found that Jean often did when he as uneasy. She wondered as to why he felt that way. He wasn't the one with the dead mother.

She blinked the cruel thoughts away.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." Was all Jean could say. He looked pained, as if his words were not enough to cover the pain she may feel at the death of a parent. If she had known that Isabella was her mother days, even hours before, she might have felt anguish. But seconds did not kindle the feelings that come with years of familiarization.

She was just…numb.

"I know, Jean. Me, too. I'm sorry I didn't get to know her." She replied, her voice the same emotionless tone. Jean sighed and his brows furrowed.

"I wish I could have done something more. I feel utterly useless." He spoke, his voice gruff. Elizabeth's mind focused on that.

"Perhaps you still can, Jean." She replied. Jean looked at her, unsure.

An hour later, the daughter of the Mother Superior and her tall, blond bodyguard found themselves before the Emperor of Russia. The man looked at their grim faces, from the Colonel of his Escort and to the woman who now held the darkest secret of Russia in her mind.

"I knew it would come to this, sooner or later." The Czar spoke, his voice on the edge of exhaustion.

"What ever do you mean, Majesty? Have you known this all along? Have you known that the woman who now lies dead had been my mother and that you did not even have the slightest inkling to inform me?" Elizabeth said in a calm, even voice. The way she spoke of her now-dead mother was like she was just speaking of the weather. It brought a wave of gooseflesh across his arms.

"Yes. Yes, I knew. I knew it before I even met you, Elizabeth." Alexander replied, standing up from his seat in the carriage, his face illuminated by the lantern on his desk.

Lamplight danced across the young woman's face, lending an ethereal, almost ghostlike mien to her. Her eyes were blank and penetrating, her mouth set in a calm line. There was no expression on her face, not even when her blonde hair swayed in the wind and tickled at her eyelids.

"I see." Was all she said, her mouth the only thing moving.

"But that was because you were not supposed to know until you were ready, Elizabeth. It was simply too dangerous to tell you when it was not yet the right time." He reasoned. Isabella had been like a daughter to him, giving him a wonderful granddaughter that now stood before him, statuesque and cold, like the very noble blood that she carried within her veins.

"And when was I supposed to be ready? When I had her blood all over me, watching her die in my arms?" She asked, still as calm as ever. It was beginning to worry him.

Alexander stepped closer, concern on his face. "Elizabeth…it's alright to be sad, to be angry."

The woman before him was not the Elizabeth he knew. "I feel nothing."

"Please, you don't have to—"

"Tell me why."

Alexander stared at her, confused by her question. She returned his stare with a hard gaze, her brown eyes almost like bright flames as the lamplight slithered in them.

"What?"

She spoke again, in a cold voice. "Tell me why she was my mother."

This was the part he dreaded talking of. It was the gist of the secret he held close to his heart. If he told it now, he would forever risk the Romanov line, and by then, the whole of Imperial Russia. But should he always keep this hidden for all time? Will he have to carry this burden to his grave? Perhaps it was time for the truth to be set free. Veritas liberabit vos.

"You may want to sit. Jean, please give us a moment." Alexander gestured to the divan opposite him and watched as Elizabeth went to it. The moment she sat, she looked directly to Jean.

"Did you know about all of this?" Elizabeth asked. Alexander watched as Jean's face broke from its grim façade and a flash of uncertainty passed before it went back to its stony mask.

"I did. And like what His Majesty has said, I was not allowed to tell you." Jean replied in a blank tone, but Alexander could hear a tinge of caution in it. He dreaded Elizabeth's reaction.

"I see." Elizabeth spoke again before she turned back to Alexander, her gaze straight and unflinching.

Alexander saw the flash of pain that went across Jean's face. He understood how the blond Colonel of his Imperial Escort felt. Elizabeth had the mysterious ability to make anyone feel like he was on top of the world, that he could do anything. It was some sort of kindness and compassion that lifted the spirits of those who were fortunate to meet her. A rejection from the fairylike woman was terrible.

Jean, from what Alexander had known, was an only child. He knew how the Colonel viewed Elizabeth as. She was as much as a sister to him as the woman was a granddaughter to the Czar. It pained to be turned away by one's family, much more when it came from someone who meant much to the heart.

Jean stiffly turned and exited, leaving the two in silence. For a moment, they both stared at each other, appraising. The secrets he carried were about to come into play, and she would be willing to wait in eternity to be able to hear the truth.

"You hurt Jean, Elizabeth." Alexander said, placing a tone of disapproval to his voice.

Elizabeth was not swayed. "Then he can run to his lover…or even perhaps to his _mother_."

Alexander sighed and briefly closed his eyes, falling into the seat underneath him. "I guess you do have the right to know the truth. After all, you are now in the middle of this…catastrophe."

Elizabeth sat up straighter, but there was no emotion on her face.

"I have waited all my life for this, Emperor. I will do _anything_ to hear the truth."

Then, motivated by her words, Alexander cleared his throat. He knew he was doing the talking for a very long while.

"My son Nicholas Aleksandrovich, you know him, yes? Almost three decades ago, Nixa—for that was what we called him as—traveled to France for his schooling. He studied there, along with the sons of other royalties. There, he met a woman. Her name was Sophia Fargaux."

Alexander's eyes were distant as he continued his tale. "Sophia was a bright, kind and beautiful woman. She mesmerized the people around her, and Nixa was no exception. In fact, he was enamoured with her. He simply adored her."

"You see, I love my children. I would have given him my full blessing and more to court the woman who held his heart. But Sophia was not of royal blood. From what Nixa's professors at the university sent us in their letters, Sophia was an illegitimate of a Duke. Still, I have never seen my son so happy. In the end, I gave him a gift—in secret, I might add—that he will have the permission to be with Lady Fargaux be it that no consequence shall come of this brief liaison."

"For a while, it was perfect. My son was perfectly euphoric. His professors reported that he was achieving high marks in his curriculum, even besting the heirs of Norway and France. My wife even noted that his letters to us were longer, happier and that he was doing his best in his studies. I was sincerely content with my decision."

Elizabeth listened closely, silent and attentive. Almost like a statue.

"That was until Sophia became pregnant. She had been with child for a while before Nixa let it slip to us. They had been planning on raising the child in secrecy. Of course, I was outraged. How dare Nicholas renege on his promise! How dare he bring an illegitimate to this world with an illegitimate! I ordered him to rid of the child, to rid of Sophia and to rid me of this problem."

"That was the moment Nixa confessed to me that Sophia Fargaux was not who she was supposed to be. When Nixa told me of Sophia's true identity, I then knew the terrible truth. By this time, there were small rebellions happening across Russia. They sought a new leader, a new government. They wished to rid Russia of the power of the aristocrats, and that the Serfs were to have voice in their new regime. They called themselves 'The Imperium'."

"The Imperium sought to destroy the Romanov dynasty ever since the rule of Catherine the Second. Though they began as a small group who demanded change through reform, they began to grow in numbers as my ancestors failed time and time again to bring harmony to Russia. I sincerely regret some of the decisions of my ancestors. If they had been wiser, they may have avoided this."

"You see, Elizabeth; the Imperium today have begun to take up arms. They now lead rebellions across my land, seeking to eradicate members of the nobility. Their ultimate target is the Crown. Their main goal is to kill my family."

Alexander stopped there, and a cold silence descended. Then, the Emperor continued on his story.

"When Nixa told me the truth, I at first did not believe it. But when after I sent almost a dozen men to search for information, the truth did not change. There was, indeed, no Sophia Fargaux. The woman Nixa fell in love with and had child with was actually the descendent of the Merovingians, a now extinct dynasty that once ruled France. Sophia Fargaux was actually Princess Sophia Isavell de Merovech, the last carrier of the royal blood of a three-hundred year old dynasty."

"When I knew of this, I immediately sent Sophia into hiding. I had my men cover-up the relationship of my son with Sophia with something else. I presume that it was something about Nixa finding love with his fiancée. The two knew of the danger they were in, Nixa more afraid for Sophia since she carried his child. He loved her and their unborn child, and would have died than rather the Imperium hurt them."

"With Sophia now in hiding, Nixa came back to Russia and announced his engagement to Maria Feodorovna. They exchanged letters for a while, with Maria knowing the truth and understanding it. Nixa was especially pained to hear that Sophia had given birth to their child without him by her side. I can still remember him crying in his room, lamenting over the fact that he will never see the beautiful child he had helped bring into this world."

"When Nixa and Maria married, their communication ceased. Word from Sophia ceased to arrive…until Nixa died a year ago. It was then that I knew the Romanov line was now in danger. The Romanov house, alongside with our family physician, released a statement that Nixa died of rheumatism."

Elizabeth watched as Alexander's eyes filled with unshed tears. "The truth is…Nixa was assassinated in his sleep."

Alexander bottled it all up, trying in his might to lock all his emotions back. He vainly tried, but failed when a single tear fell from his eyes. In respect, Elizabeth did not say a word and simply looked away, giving him time to compose himself. He placed his hands on his face and wiped it across, drying the tears in the process.

"The day after, Sophia began to send letters. She expressed her concern for her child, of whom she revealed to us that she left with a dear friend of hers. This dear friend of hers came to Italy with the baby in tow until the Imperium cornered her caravan and killed her. A servant managed to hide the baby and ran away with the child to the nearest city. Once she reached the place, she left the child at the door of a church. The servant was never heard of since."

A surge of excitement, apprehension and dread rose in Elizabeth, causing her skin to achieve goosebumps. This was it. The truth was about to be told.

"Sophia had hid herself, too. She went by a different name and led a small group of followers who also acted as her guards."

"What name did Sophia Isavell de Merovech go by, Alexander?" Elizabeth spoke for the first time in a while.

Alexander stared at the woman before him, the words of history upon his tongue. Then, slowly, he spoke the name that he had not said in a very long while. Curiously, a heavy weight lifted off from his chest as he spoke.

Across him, Elizabeth's face drained of blood.

* * *

**AN: **_Now, I have finally lifted MY own burden from my chest. I sincerely apologize for my lateness in updating. College is having fun fucking with me. It is literally kicking my ass. Sociology is a bitch and so is FFP. Seriously. :/_

_To Neko, I sincerely believe that my story is not lagging behind. There is a reason why the genres are set as Drama/Romance (Now, I really regret not replacing Drama w/ Adventure). This story, The Royal Phantasm, is not supposed to have any sort of real ROYAI interaction. Yes, there is implied Royai, but no real interaction. This is because the story is, first and foremost, a story of Elizabeth Hawkeye's life, not LOVE life. Her romance with Roy was highlighted and a major plot in the prequel, Child of the Dark Morn. In Royal Phantasm, her identity is the gist of the story. Royai is just a supporting plot now so that it can carry the MAIN plot of the story, Riza's identity and purpose, to play. So, yes, there is no real Royai Interaction. But this story is not lagging. I have a handful of plots fighting for first spot. There is the Roy-Riza lovelife, the Russia-Italy conflict, the Romanov-Imperium war and the Riza Identity plot. Ergo, like what I said in my past author's notes (People have to really start reading ANs.), the Royal Phantasm is not a heavy Royai story. It's an fast-paced Historical story. That is the reason why I wrote Luna in the first place, so as to have a place for Royai to exist in my world._

_P.S.: If I sounded harsh here, I apologize. This is the way I speak, frank and direct. _

_To everyone else, enjoy! _


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: **_I'd like to thank everyone, once again, who reviewed my last chapter. I know it's been a while since I last wrote, but college is hell. So, here we go!_

* * *

Chapter 25: Mi Último Adiós

Elizabeth watched the gleaming light at the junction between the mountains a thousand leagues ahead of her. The refulgent display of light cleaved the dark grey-blue sky like the gold rapier of the heavens, sundering the dawn-like firmament.

Everything stood still for her. Every bud and dew moved not in the proximity of her ambivalence.

_I am a noble._

Those four words reverberated within the quiet of her mind, their ever-present truth lingering in the grottoes of thought.

_I am a Princess._

She should have felt something, felt anything. But no, there was nothing inside that seemed strong enough to burn. It seemed all her emotions had suddenly been leeched away from her. There was nothing to feel with.

_My mother was a Princess._

Her mother, Isabella, now lay dead underneath the waves of the ferocious river that now seemed like a lifetime away. There was no sorrow for her death, only an unearthly tranquility that seemed to echo from the chasms of darkness.

"Elizabeth?" The voice that spoke to her almost came as a ghostly whisper. Her mind, deep within the gorges of memory, came up and it took a moment for her to turn and take in the speaker.

It was a woman, with short blonde-brown hair. She had dazzling green eyes, and a kind smile. She looked elderly, and somehow, in the back of Elizabeth's mind, she knew who this woman was. The man behind her was tall and handsome, with jet-black hair and hazel eyes behind spectacles, and he too seemed as if a dear acquaintance from a time long gone by.

She wondered who they were…

"Maes, Gracia." Elizabeth spoke, finally realizing who the two before her were. Funny, it seemed like she was forgetting everything now. Had she finally lost all reason?

Perhaps, since she could still comprehend what was around her, it was reasoning that retained the sanity in her.

"Are you sure you want to do this, dear?" Gracia asked, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

Elizabeth nodded. There were more important things than her problems.

"You both need to leave and go into hiding. I can never forgive myself if anything happens to you because of me."

Gracia, in a mixture of awe and anguish, could only stare at the blonde woman. She wasn't particularly loquacious regarding the departure of the people she held dear. After all, what could one say when an important figure of their lives was asking them to leave?

"Is this because of what I said aboard the _Pyotr Velikiy?_ Is this because of that?" Maes' voice was anguished and remorseful. He had a pained look on his face.

Slightly alarmed, Elizabeth shook her head. "No, no. That is now past, Maes. I have forgiven you your words. Now, I ask you, please go."

"What if we don't want to? What if we want to stay, Riza?" Gracia pressed, a sob almost leaking out into her words. Maes was gripping her shoulders tightly, restraining her, but he too seemed ready and willing to plead, his hazel eyes misty and wet.

_Riza_. The name sounded so…old, a reminder of the innocence she had lost. That innocence seemed a lifetime ago, belonged to someone else. Someone who was not part of this catastrophe, someone without royal blood…

"You must. If I have to bring authority into this, then I shall." Elizabeth spoke, her voice turning stern. The two stiffened before her. She didn't want to bring her title into play, but if she has to, if it meant the safety of her two friends, then she will.

"Will you really do that, Riza?" Maes spoke after a long moment of stunned silence. Elizabeth slowly nodded. The two seemed to lose their spirit, as their postures slackened and Gracia let out a half-sigh, half-sob.

She watch the two as they trudged back to their carriage to change and, perhaps, to compose themselves before saying goodbye.

It was hard to see them go, that much was true. She'd never see them again, and if it were for the greater good, she hoped that they'd never meet again at all. This business of war was destructive, and it can only result in death.

It took a while, but when Gracia and Maes came out, they were now in their traveling coats and carrying their luggage. Gracia's eyes were still a bit puffy but otherwise she looked calm. Maes, too, seemed composed enough.

Elizabeth accompanied them, lagging behind, as they said their goodbyes to the people they traveled with. Sister Anastasia and Dahlia, the last two sentries of her dead mother, were the first to say goodbye.

Sweet Anastasia was sorrowful, her grey eyes teary. She hugged Gracia tightly. It seemed that they had become close friends in the time they traveled together. Dahlia had a sad smile, but was otherwise accepting. She clasped hands with Maes, giving it a firm shake.

Jean gave a salute to the both of them, and Maes returned it before giving the blond man a farewell embrace. Jean made a move to stand next to her, but Elizabeth coldly ignored him.

She was still furious that he withheld the truth of her birthright from her. The stricken look on his face pleased her inner sadist.

"You're still angry with me." Jean said heavily, the words clearly spoken in a statement, not in a question.

"Too right you are." She responded in an icy voice. The man beside her seemed to slump, but she focused her sight on Maes and Gracia as they went from one to another, giving their last words.

"Elizabeth, you have to understand that I was not allowed to tell you." Jean reasoned out, his azure blue eyes hurt and regretful. "I really did want to tell you, Elizabeth, believe me."

"I think not." The words came to her lips before she could process them. She felt Jean still for a moment, before he stood to his full height, a mask descending on his face. Then he spoke, in a blank voice. "Pardon me for disturbing you, Your Highness."

He turned and went away. Elizabeth merely stared at his retreating form for a moment, feeling an infinitesimal spark of guilt for being uncaring, before she turned her sights back at her two departing friends.

When the time for leaving arrived, Elizabeth saw them to their horses, where a small platoon of soldiers would then bring them to the town nearest to their camp, which was a few leagues away.

She walked between the two as the soldiers grouped around them and escorted them out of their camp. The silence hung like a thick veil around them, disturbed only by the heavy thumping of the soldiers' boots and the occasional neigh of the two horses.

When Elizabeth reached the boundary of the camp, she turned to look at her two friends. She wished that she could say something, something to extend her gratitude, her sorrow, her love to them. But there was nothing to say. No words came to her mind, to her thoughts, to her lips.

"Well, this is goodbye then." Gracia said, a tinge of regret in her voice. Her eyes drank Elizabeth in, as if trying to remember her for one last time. Maes was also doing the same time, his hands turning white as they tightened on the reins, belying his own sorrow.

"I know. You will be safe, though. The Imperium's sight is on me, not on you. For wherever you are going, they will never follow you." Elizabeth replied, not knowing where the words came.

Gracia nodded and turned to Maes, her face expectant. He looked at Gracia, then to Elizabeth, then back to his beloved before finally resting his eyes on the blonde woman.

"People come into our lives for a reason, Elizabeth. You certainly came into ours with a bang. I'll never forget how I met you and how happy I was to meet you, for if I haven't, I would have never met Gracia." Maes spoke, his eyes taking a soft light. "You changed my life, Elizabeth Romanov."

Maes closed his eyes for a moment before he opened them again, and this time, there was an even softer, albeit, sad look in his hazel eyes. "I'm just sorry that you never got to change _his_ life."

And, without a doubt, Elizabeth exactly knew who Maes meant. For one small moment, born out of her ambivalence perhaps, she wanted to escape along with the two of them, to start anew.

And the three looked at each other once more, before the captain of the guard spoke to Maes. "We have to get going, sir. It's a long trip to Vorgovorod."

Maes agreed, turned back to Elizabeth, and dipped his head in a bow. "Farewell, Princess. May the Heavens guide you."

Gracia nodded as well. "Take care, darling. In our hearts, you will always be."

And, as one, the two turned their backs on her and, with the platoon, set off towards the distant peaks, where the sun shone brightly. She watched their figures as they became smaller and smaller and smaller until Elizabeth had to squint in order to see them.

Only when their silhouettes disappeared underneath the peaks did Elizabeth turned and returned back to the camp.

* * *

Dahlia and Anastasia were waiting for her when she came close to the camp. Once she passed them, the two Sisters walked a little bit behind her, acting like bodyguards. With Isabella dead, they seemed more eager to protect her daughter.

Elizabeth wondered if there were others like the two Sisters behind her.

As she passed a few tents, the Czar approached her, wearing a fine blue doublet. It was still unusual and a bit disorienting for Elizabeth to call the man 'Grandfather'.

"Elizabeth, dear! Can I speak to you for a moment?" He asked.

_It's not as if I have a choice, do I?_ Elizabeth badly wanted to throw the words out, but her conscience seemed to realize that she had done enough damage to her friends today. So, in a polite voice, she answered. "Yes, Majesty."

For in her current state of mind, she was not going to call him 'Grandfather'.

Alexander seemed to notice this, and his eyes dimmed a bit before gesturing to a spot by a few tall trees. The two of them strode towards it, the two Sisters falling back to give them privacy.

"What do you wish to speak of, Majesty?" She asked.

Alexander looked around. "I have been thinking for a while, and it seems prudent that you should continue your education."

"I see." Elizabeth answered, her eyes focusing on a cloud up in the sky.

"From what your friend Gracia told me before she left, you were taught personally by the Prince of Milan, former Duke of Florence. A Roy Mustang, was it?" His words, especially the last few, shook her. She stared at him, startled.

"Y-yes." She stammered, breaking eye contact.

Alexander's brows furrowed, and he looked at her in caution. "Are you alright, Elizabeth?"

She took a deep breath, and composed herself, before answering. "I am, Majesty. It just…surprised me, is all."

"Ah, I see then. So, do you concur that we continue your learning?" He asked. She nodded.

"Who will be teaching me?"

At this, the man smiled and gave a small chuckle. "Me, for the time being. But once we reach St. Petersburg, and after I introduce you to the nobility and to the people, you shall be educated by our most capable and competent teachers."

"What!" Elizabeth half-asked, half-shouted. Was he _actually_ planning to introduce her to the lords and ladies of the Russian court? Has the man gone daft?

The Czar seemed startled at first before he let out a laugh, which was quickly silenced by a glare from the blonde woman before him. "Dear Elizabeth, I do know the burden of being a noble, and I respect your reluctance. However, I cannot or, better yet, will not hide you from _your_ people. They have a right to know, Princess."

Elizabeth was flabbergasted. No, that was the understatement of the millennium. She was appalled, furious, horrified and felt a bit mad. Here she was, a hunted-down descendent of an ancient legacy, troubling over the fact that she was going to be paraded in some sort of superfluous pageant.

Of course she knew that it was not going to happen now. St. Petersburg was days, even weeks, away from their place at the borders of the Russian Empire. Still, though, the idea of being the center of attention of thousands upon thousands of people was daunting.

Flabbergasted indeed.

She wondered what gruesome deed had she done for God to have punished her horribly like this.

"Don't fret, dear." Alexander spoke, once seeing her stunned, possibly demented, expression. "It's not going to happen for weeks. You still have to learn etiquette, courtly policies and sovereignty. No granddaughter of mine shall have no knowledge within her mind, I tell you."

Though she should have felt insulted at his last sentence, Elizabeth felt a rush of affection at hearing the word 'granddaughter'. She finally had family.

"Well, then. If that is all," Elizabeth began, watching Alexander nod, "then I shall return to my carriage now."

She had turned and taken a few steps when the man called out. "Don't be so hard on Jean, my dear. He wasn't doing it out of deception. He merely wanted to protect you."

Elizabeth stood for a while, the wind blowing her hair. "I know."

And she continued on her way.

* * *

Roy was in the field, practicing with his sword, sweat dripping down his bare torso and back. The light shimmered off the liquid beads on his muscles, shining from time to time as he thrust and swerved, cut and sliced the air. The polished silver blade of his sword made sounds as he turned it back and forth, decapitating an invisible enemy and stabbing one that he conjured from his back.

Towards the sides, where the trees were tall and gave ample shade, sitting on the grass were Diana and Richard. The grey-eyed beauty was engrossed in a book, her head upon Richard's shoulders, while her lover was absorbed in Roy's swordplay. He, too, seemed interested to spar.

Roy was about to invite him when Apollya came bustling from the manor, carrying her skirts in her hands. She panted as she spoke. "Highness, you—have—a—visitor. He told me that it was of the most importance and that you must be informed as soon as possible."

Roy stopped in mid-thrust after hearing Apollya's words. His breathing came in waves as he let his hand relax and drop the sword. He combed back his hair and wiped the sweat off his eyes. "Who is he, Apollya?"

She shook her head. Diana and Richard, too, were listening. "He did not say, Highness. He just told me to come find you and it had something to do with the Imperium."

Instantly alerted, Roy nodded and proceeded to his manor. Apollya was by his side all the way, his two other friends looking confused, but otherwise, calm. "Where have you left him?"

"In the sitting room."

Roy nodded. "Good. Bring him something to eat and tell him that I am changing as of the moment, Apollya. I'll be down shortly."

With that, the old maid turned right and disappeared to a long hallway as Roy came up to his chambers. He spent an awfully short time in his bath and proceeded to wear his usual black garb, adding a touch of eau de cologne. He combed his hair and wore his gloves and once he deemed himself presentable enough, he came down.

When he reached the sitting room, a lone man was seated at the sofa, dressed in a grey ensemble, looking like a page. A small ornate teacup sat on a nearby table, its content half-empty. A plate of croissants sat next to it.

"Welcome to my manor. I am Roy Mustang, and you requested my presence, yes?" Roy spoke, gesturing for the man to not stand, and sat himself on a chair opposite the sofa.

The sentry was young, with boyish features and looked extremely English. "Your Highness, I thank you for receiving me at such short notice."

"Nothing of consequence, my boy. Now, what brings you hear? Apollya told me that it was of the Imperium's matter, yes?" Roy spoke. The boy nodded.

"Yes, Highness. Queen Lyra ordered me to tell you that her men had intercepted the Russian royal entourage in the borders of their country."

Roy's eyes widened and he sat up, eager. "Indeed? Then we must congratulate her for having struck our enemy so terribly!"

The sentry shook his head. "No, Highness. The royal entourage was able to escape. However, from what her spies have gathered, it seemed that her men had eliminated Sophia Isavell de Merovech, who had went all these years by the name of Isabella de Saint-Clair. She, according to the spies, was a valuable member of the entourage."

The Prince was silent for a moment, before he nodded once more. "I see. So, though our victory was postponed, at least we have struck them a significant blow."

The young man nodded. "Indeed. She was also the mother of the Czar's granddaughter."

"Mother!" Roy's cry of shock surprised the boy, who nodded hesitantly. "Why! That means we have also struck the morale of their leader! Yes, this is great news. Thank you for telling me, boy."

The sentry heard the tone of dismissal from the Prince's voice, and got up and said farewell before exiting the manor. When silence had ensued, Roy was still sitting on the chair, his thoughts muddled.

The news was glorious. They had killed who seemed to be someone of great importance to the Russians. And this Sophia was also the mother of the Czar's granddaughter! How convenient.

Perhaps if they were to target this granddaughter now, it would surely be a great tragedy for their enemies. Determined, Roy promised himself to find out more about this…granddaughter.

It was intriguing, this mysterious figure, Roy thought. Before the war had begun, Roy had heard of no grandchild of ever being conceived.

Interesting. With that, Roy stood and sought out his personal line of spies.

* * *

"Is it done?" A cold, high voice spoke. The men around the table shook, as if something icy had slithered up their spines. The fire that cackled behind their mistress did not lessen the chill that emanated around the room.

From a spot to the farther end, a voice spoke out. "Maitresse, I am pleased to inform you that Merovech is dead. Her body now rots in the chasms of Hell. I know, for I have seen it myself when my men slaughtered her."

The shadowed figure sitting on the tall, ornate and winged armchair did not move or gave any indication that she heard him. Then, after an uncomfortable moment of silence, she spoke. "Good. And the Rose?"

There was a small shuffling amongst the group. Everyone seemed edgy now, some of them looking towards their comrades in the dim room. The man who informed the Maitresse of Merovech's death now spoke, though in a hesitant and fearful voice.

"She…escaped, Maitresse."

A deathly chill descended, every person around the long table looking towards their leader, hungry and scared of her reaction. No sound came from within and without the room, eliciting a sepulchral shadow to pass over the Chevaliers' faces.

"Escape, did she?" The Maitresse asked in calm voice, making everyone cringe in the room. The man who spoke, Rodulfus, nodded slowly.

Out of the blue, with a speed bordering on unnatural, the Maitresse pulled out a gun and shot Rodulfus. The Chevaliers' sounds of surprise ceased when Rodulfus stilled, a dark wound between his eyes.

Then, without warning, he toppled face-first unto the table, blood leaking into the lace tablecloth. From the shadows, two guards appeared behind Rodulfus' chair and, with their hands on his shoulders, hoisted him back, his mouth hanging open and his face covered in his own blood.

"Dispose of him…or leave him in the courtyard. I may find pleasure in gutting his body later." The Maitresse spoke airily, like she had not killed one of her followers.

With the guards dragging his body, the Chevaliers' eyes were trained on him as the dead Rodulfus was pulled out of the room, his head lolling from side-to-side.

"Now," Everyone's head turned to their leader so fast that it was almost impossible for their necks to not have broken. After witnessing the silent wrath of the Maitress, the Chevaliers' were more than afraid now. They were terrified.

"Is there anyone here _competent_ enough to eliminate what seems to be a mere girl of twenty-nine summers?" The Maitresse spoke condescendingly, her gun now hidden beneath the folds of her cloak.

Milius, one of the Maitresse's trusted Chevaliers and a member of her inner circle, spoke in an outraged tone. "Mistress! With all due respect, this girl is more than mere mortal! She has the whole might of the Russian Empire at her feet. It is impossible for us to kill her by ourselves."

The other Chevaliers waited for the chilly silence, waited for the rage of their irascible leader, waited for the bloodshed that would soon occur after Milius' display of impudence.

But, no. There was no bloodshed, no rage. There was only a silence that was broken when the Maitresse raised her hand. Everyone in the room flinched, expecting her to kill, but were quite stunned when she raised it and laid her chin on it, her face visible now in the firelight.

Though she was capable of extreme malevolence, no one in the room could deny that their leader was far more beautiful than she was merciless. Her raven hair shone in the firelight, like fire and black diamonds. Her skin was pale, and almost glowed in the surrounding darkness, like the skin of a winter princess.

And her eyes were the color of the lightest shade of aubergine. They seemed to pierce you, locking you in a cold prison of fear. She was beautiful and deadly, not unlike a glimmering Death Adder.

All she needed now were fangs and venom, and she was good to go.

"Well, be that the case, then it seems we may need to call upon our comrades." She spoke in a deadly voice, dripped in the uttermost loathing.

Then she raised her hand, fingers clenched into a fist with her index pointing towards the ceiling. "To the Imperium!"

The Chevaliers followed suit, their hands pointing heavenward. Outside, the light of day flashed like the glowing ember of a rising flame.

* * *

**AN**: _Alas, that ends the current chapter! __ If you wish to contact me for updates, comments, suggestions and the like, you may follow me on Twitter at __**sartaedhtennek **__or you may contact me on my personal FaceBook Profile or my author page on FB, too. It's called _**Deathcrest**. R&R and take care!


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: **_Hey guys! Thanks for reviewing the last chapter! Wow! __**136 reviews, 15,151 hits, 31 Favs and 45 Alerts for this story alone! **__And let's not forget the prequel, Child of the Dark Morn, with its __**102 reviews, 13,354 Hits, 25 Favs and 22 Alerts**_! _You know how I feel now? I feel like J.K. freaking Rowling! __**THANK YOU SO MUCH! ! !**_

Now, I'm sure you're all horrified by my sentiments, so on with the story!

(**Ambiance recommended** (in order of scene): _Opening_ from the original soundtrack of **Elizabeth: The Golden Age**; _Victoria and Albert_ and _Only You_ from the original soundtrack of the movie **The Young Victoria**.)

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Chapter 26: Saint Petersburg

They rode fast and hard, stopping only for brief respites. The cold Russian weather bore down on them, the icy rain and the chilly air snipping at their heels as the caravan climbed towards the capital of the empire. Their trek was dangerous and almost impossible, but the staunchness that defined the Russian people pushed them on and on.

To Elizabeth, it had seemed that there was no end to the bleak travel. She still hadn't spoken much about the Rose affair and she was still detached when she communicated with Jean and Alexander. A part of her, some vestige of her innocence, screamed for her to forgive them both for withholding the truth; after all, it was for her own good. Yet the dominant part of her, the one that was in control of her thoughts, this cold, harsh and merciless 'Elizabeth' wanted nothing more than to let them feel the shock and hurt of being betrayed.

Maes and Gracia's departure for refuge seemed years ago, now that all Elizabeth could think was the dreadful cold atmosphere. As days turned to weeks, the looming shadow of the Introduction seemed to draw near.

God forbid, she couldn't last much longer in travel. She had been journeying from Italy for almost a year now. It was then, however, that Chancellor Archer announced that they were nearing the capital. Elizabeth could have wept for joy at this news.

A feeling of dread and anticipation began to swell inside her as they continued to travel. In what seemed a day's time, Elizabeth could finally see, with her own eyes, the land of her father, and his father before him. She could finally see the land of the Czar Alexander, see the land that was of the Crown.

Finally, Elizabeth could see the land of her birthright.

The land that belonged to her, and to her kingdom.

No, _her empire_.

It never occurred to her that _she_ would be the missing heir to the throne. She had been set in her beliefs that she was just a simple person in this large world. Even now, the fact that she was the granddaughter of the Czar of Russia was still quite shocking.

Who would have thought? Certainly not her.

For a day and a half, they traveled towards Saint Petersburg, braving the icy weather and the steep and precipitous terrain. More times than not, the caravan had to stop since some of the horses began to fall ill due to the abrupt weather change. A few even died.

Luckily, Elizabeth's carriage still had all four horses.

It wasn't until the midday when the faint edifice that was the Winter Palace came into view. On, the small group moved forward, weary of travel and at the arms of home.

When the gates of Saint Petersburg opened for their Emperor and his court, the people rejoiced.

Hundreds upon hundreds of Saint Petersburgians came out of their homes to welcome their Emperor. Some threw petals of flowers on the ground before the caravan, others cheered and wailed exclamations of welcome.

The return of their lord had rejuvenated them. With the Emperor safe within the walls of Saint Petersburg, the Russians were ready to fight.

Alexander stood, tall and proud, simply magnificent in his battle regalia. Beside him stood Jean and his escort, the Chancellor on the other side. Prior to their arrival, Alexander had ordered Elizabeth that she stand behind him, a step away from him, marking her as part of his immediate family.

When the caravan entered the capital, Elizabeth stood in awe at seeing the majestic façade of the Winter Palace. It was a shining beacon of the Russian people, the royal home of the Czars and Czarinas of Imperial Russia.

It was her home.

And, as if brought by some new understanding, Elizabeth felt deep warmth in her chest, as if she had always known that this was her home, that she belonged here.

The Winter Palace itself was imposing and grand. With its marble white façade, its wide houses and with the tall tower in the middle of the square, it was a grander sight than the Palazzo della Quattro Santa. She couldn't describe the elegant resplendence of her home.

With her eyes still bright with admiration, Elizabeth continued to stare at the gleaming palace as the caravan continued to move towards the entrance. Training her eyes on the great doors, she could see a long line of Palace Guards, standing erect and rigid, muskets on the ready, swords unsheathed.

However, it was not the smartly escort that fully captured her gaze. No, it was the people standing atop the stairs.

It was the Imperial Court.

Standing ahead, flanked by her guards and ladies-in-waiting, was the Empress Consort. The Czarina Maria was a tall, dark-haired woman, a demure beauty in a silver dress. She had a serene expression on her face; her calm dark eyes watching the scene unfold before her with a demeanor similar to someone surveying an undisturbed lake.

The lords and ladies behind her were finely dressed: breeches white, hats atop their heads in varying fashion, doublets and corsets newly pressed. Some anticipated the carriage's arrival; others hung back and seemed too involved in speaking with one another to notice anything.

Elizabeth was quick to notice the haughty expressions of some of those people.

What happened next was a blur to Elizabeth. The herald announced the arrival of the Emperor and opened the carriage doors. The Saint Petersburgians cheered on as the Emperor stood, tall and proud, waving to his people. Elizabeth stood behind him, half a pace away, her position not overlooked by neither the Court nor by the Empress herself.

Czar Alexander entered the Winter Palace, Elizabeth and his entourage in tow. As they entered the great double doors, Elizabeth allowed herself to be in awe with the majestic beauty of the Palace interior.

The gold ceiling, the tall marble pillars, the lines of statues and portraits, the neverending carpet, everything. It was simply astounding. The Winter Palace was grander than the Palazzo della Quattro Santa, both inside and out.

As she looked around, she could not stop feeling spellbound. This was her home, her Palace. The thought in itself was intimidating and exciting. Superbly so.

* * *

Elizabeth stood before the mirror, assessing her appearance. The Czar had set her a room on the same hallway as his, silently expressing her title as a Princess. As she looked into the mirror, Elizabeth could help but feel as if she was someone else.

In the glass, there was a woman of her own height, of her own blonde-gold hair, of her own tawny, gold-specked eyes. But the woman in the mirror could not possibly be Elizabeth. Not Elizabeth Hawkeye, at the least.

No, the woman before her was Elizabeth R. Elizabeth Romanov. Elizabeth Ivanova Romanov.

E.I.R.

Just as what Sister Dalia had uttered to the Czar when they had first docked in Barcelona so many months ago.

The blonde woman in the mirror was wearing a yellow dress, but not a bright yellow that stung the eyes, but a yellow that complimented her own gold tresses. The dress itself was not to expressive: its sleeves were cut to the elbow and the neckline itself was square and even; the thin ruffle at the neckline had a faint lace-like design that covered up her décolletage.

She also wore a blue sash atop her dress. It was a simple Saxe blue. The color reminded her of a dress, one that she used to own. She couldn't quite recall as to how it looked like, but she remembered how she often doted on it.

Her blonde hair was not left in its let-down state; rather, the Czarina's lady-in-waiting thought that it would look grand if it was up in an elegant bun. So far, Elizabeth had not complained. The bun itself was not tight, but also not loose. Her hair up in a bun lent an odd feeling of freedom to Elizabeth.

Her face was painted. Not much, but lightly: a little tint of rouge on her lips and a little bit of powder on her face, nothing more.

A simple gold necklace hung from her neck and a small ring embraced her index finger, the sapphire in it shining faintly.

When she looked at herself, took a step back and regarded herself once more, Elizabeth concluded that the woman before her was not _her_.

Not Elizabeth Hawkeye but Elizabeth Romanov.

She had come a long way. From simpleton to lady, and from lady to Princess. She had grown, both physically and emotionally. She had matured. The dreamy look that had been in the eyes of her younger self had faded, and a penetrating gaze took its place. Everything about her had changed. She briefly wondered how Roy would react—

"My lady?" The voice of the Czarina's lady-in-waiting shook her out of her precarious thoughts. Elizabeth blinked and turned her eyes from her reflection to the other blonde girl's form in the mirror.

She was a pretty girl. She had golden hair like Elizabeth, but hers was a bit shorter and had a bit of curl at the ends. She also had brown eyes like the Princess, but hers was warmer and darker than Elizabeth's tawny ones. If she came close, they'd almost be of the same height, with Elizabeth a bit taller. But that was no surprise, Elizabeth was taller than most women.

"Yes?" Elizabeth answered in return with a nod. The woman stepped into the room and made a small bow.

"His Majesty said that it is time for the introduction, my lady. He said that I am to accompany you."

Oh. The Introduction. So, it was finally happening. Hmm. Elizabeth took one last look at herself and she couldn't stop the painful ache that asked for comfort, that ache that longed for Roy. If he was here, she wouldn't be feeling this nervous, this close to a social wreck. One smile from him and she can take on the world.

But now, there was no one here for her. Only the blonde girl in the mirror. Only her.

Elizabeth Romanov was all she had left.

With other girl leading her, Elizabeth made her way down, still feeling as awestruck and lost as an amazed foreigner. As they made their way towards the Throne Room, Elizabeth was struck with a sense of familiarity.

It shouldn't have been that. Though this was her home, she had been born away from it, grew up away from it. Only after twenty-nine years did she come back but there was a feeling in her that seemed to be familiar with the Palace, as if she was born here, as if she was raised here.

Call of the bones, that was what old women said. The bones were supposed to be able to recognize its land of birth and whatnot. Though it sounded quite superstitious, she was a bit comforted by the fact that her body had already recognized what her mind and heart was still confused and shocked about it.

The Throne Room was far from the apartments of the Czar, of where Elizabeth had been dressed. It was on the other side of the Palace, across the Palace Square itself. On their way, Elizabeth did not stop or tire, though she did slow down to admire the darkening skyline of Saint Petersburg and the brightly-lit Square, filled with carriages, merchants and children.

Elizabeth was curious of her companion. She wanted to talk but found out that she knew nothing of the woman. Not her name, at least. She wanted to reach out and tap her but that seemed rude, so she opted to clear her throat.

"Ahem." The woman turned her head, and looked at Elizabeth. "You wish for something, my lady?"

"Yes," Elizabeth spoke as they continued walking. "I was wondering what your name is."

"Oh. It's Delphine, my lady. Delphine Rothernburg."

Delphine Rothernburg. The name seemed familiar, as if Elizabeth had heard them before. Then, she remembered something:

_"Her name is Delphine Rothernburg, and she's the most..." Jean shrugged, causing Elizabeth to smile knowing that such a woman could bring out such adoration from him. The way he shrugged, Elizabeth knew that he could not describe her in words. This Delphine was truly pluperfect if she could make a wonderful man like Jean so happy._

Ah. So this is the woman who had captured the heart of the Captain of the Imperial Escort. She wasn't surprised. There was something about Delphine, something shy and quiet and kind that radiated an inner fire. In more ways than one, she resembled Elizabeth.

"Lady Delphine, a pleasure to meet you." Elizabeth said, smiling at the woman. Delphine offered a small, hesitant smile. Painfully shy girl.

"It is a pleasure for me, too, my lady."

"Surely, it is a great pleasure for me, Delphine. I have finally met Jean's love." Elizabeth spoke, watching the woman from the corner of her eye. Delphine had almost stopped but continued to walk, her hands wringing.

"Oh, don't be so nervous. You and Jean belong together." With a kind smile, Delphine righted herself and walked much steadier. Elizabeth concluded that Delphine was a fragile young girl. Compliments made her smile but she also knew that insults would cause her to wilt.

Not a bad person for Jean, who always thought that it was his life's purpose to embody chivalry and protect all womanhood from physical and emotional harm. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The man was simply too much of a knight-in-shining-armor.

"Tell me, how did you two meet? Did Her Majesty introduce you?" Elizabeth asked as they entered another room, passing by guards. Delphine shook her head.

"No, my lady. Sir Havoc and I met in the Palace Library."

"Odd place to meet. Anyway, how did Jean introduce himself to you?"

Delphine continued walking but Elizabeth noted that there was a faraway look in her eyes. "I was tasked by Her Majesty to translate a novel of hers into Russian when sir Havoc approached me and inquired for my help in translating another book. He said it was important and that His Majesty the Czar had asked for it."

"Ah, so…" Elizabeth trailed, motioning for Delphine to continue.

"So naturally, I accepted and began to translate the book. He said that it was very important and that whenever I was to translate a part, I was supposed to be with him in order to not spread the book's content. Of course, I also agreed and we made up a timetable for translating the book." Delphine proceeded, a small smile lighting her face.

"Interesting. How did the book translating progress?"

This time, Delphine's smile widened, her dark eyes shining.

"He and I worked on the book for days in the library. He'd sit beside me or stand behind as I worked on every word. It was hard, since the book was in Ancient Sanskrit and I had to translate it into Mandarin before I could translate it into Russian. It was time consuming. But, as we progressed, I noticed something."

Elizabeth gave a small chuckle. "I have this feeling that Jean wasn't as honest as you thought him to be."

Delphine looked at her, her eyes wide. Elizabeth realized that what she had said was what had _exactly_ happened.

"You are right, my lady. I began to be suspicious when after translating the first three chapters, I realized what it was. I confronted Jean and demanded why he had lied to me. He said that it was very important. Life-threatening important. I never knew poetry was life-altering for His Majesty."

And together, the two of them laughed. Elizabeth was the first to recover, smoothing out her dress as they turned another corner. "So, how did Jean explain himself?"

Delphine shook her head, remnants of a smile still on her lips. "He didn't. He just stood there, all tall and imposing, and said, and I quote, 'If you dare tell His Majesty or Her Majesty or anyone about this, I will tie you up and force you to become my wife until the day I die.'. I have never laughed that much in my entire life."

Elizabeth scoffed. "Jean said that? Goodness, you must have a strong backbone to control that man."

Then, to Elizabeth's surprise, Delphine's eyes softened, gaining a tender look. "No need. I just said to him, 'If you wanted to speak to me exclusively, then all you had to do was ask'. For all the time we had spent _translating_, he was quite the man: funny, charming and extremely kind. I had fallen in love and I had not the idea."

A bout of silence passed by, with Delphine deep in her thoughts and Elizabeth smiling at her, though she was mentally kicking herself. Jean didn't deserve the cold treatment she had given him since many days ago. Looking at Delphine, Elizabeth realized the extreme happiness the man had given the lady-in-waiting. They almost seemed like Roy and Riza.

Then, as if realizing she had been daydreaming, Delphine's eyes blinked and she let out a small 'Oh!'. "My lady, I am so sorry for spacing out."

"No need to apologize, Delphine. I completely understand how you feel." Elizabeth said kindly, laying a tender hand on the woman's arm. When both looked up, they finally realized that they had reached the double doors of the Throne Room.

"My lady, here we are." Delphine spoke, standing aside as the two guards stood straighter and the herald turned to look at her. "Your Highness, are you ready?"

"A moment, if you will, kind sir." The herald bowed his head and turned away just as Elizabeth rounded and walked away.

She stood before the wall opposite the doors, breathing deeply, her heart pounding. It was time. It was now time for the Introduction. Goodness, her heart was beating so fast and her thoughts were so dizzying that she feared she might faint.

A hand held her arm and she turned to see Delphine standing beside her, smiling encouragingly.

"It's alright, my lady. You will be fine. I will be with you, every step."

"Promise?" Elizabeth asked, feeling like a child for the first time in many years.

Delphine smiled. "Promise."

Elizabeth nodded and walked back to the front of the double doors, Delphine in tow. The herald turned to look at her, and before he could ask, Elizabeth had nodded and steeled herself.

She calmed herself, sought out that quiet refuge in her mind. She schooled her face of all expressions and kept herself straight and regal. Finally, the herald commanded the doors to be opened and a thousand pair of eyes turned to the entrance.

Then the herald, in a clear and loud voice, announced. "May I present, Her Imperial Highness, Princess Elizabeth of Russia."

* * *

A thousand pair of eyes focused on Elizabeth, some encouraging, others hostile. Slowly, she made her way to the center, her footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent room. She fought the urge to quail under their scrutiny and instead forced herself to turn. Before her was the Czar himself and the Czarina.

Slowly, she bowed. "Your Majesties."

It was the Czar Alexander who first broke the silence. "Elizabeth! My dear, how beautiful you are!"

His words, coupled with the piercing stare he subtly gave around the room, broke the silencing spell the crowd had been placed under. Applause began to scatter around the room as Elizabeth bowed to the Czar and to his wife.

Soon, the revelry that was before Elizabeth had entered began to renew. As if on cue, people began to come near Elizabeth, looking for her audience. Elizabeth knew how to deal with them, as Alexander had taught her on the journey to Saint Petersburg.

She smiled, she shook hands and she toasted. She laughed and bowed and allowed people to kiss her hand. People and titles ran through her mind as she greeted one court subject after another. From the Grand Duke of Poland to the Count of Vladivostok and even to the Czarina herself. All of them was intent as to who this Princess of Russia was.

As Alexander had taught her, Elizabeth told them: She was the daughter of the Tsarevich by his first wife, the Princess Sophie de Merovech. She was instated as Princess as she was born under an acceptable marriage, and therefore she was of able right to the position she was titled in.

The dinner itself was a noisy even, though it was a bit humorous. As the appetizers were served, the Duke of Moscow had apparently forgotten his allergy of spices as he dipped a fried crab-meat ball into a steaming sauce mixed with peppers and paprika. The poor man was in a coughing fit by the end of it, and his wife had to call for their physician. And when the first main dish, lamb chops, were served, the Viscount of Saint Petersburg was so hungry that he elbowed the Countess of Vladivostok in the breast. A fight broke out between the Count and the Viscount and it ended in a vicious food fight between the two.

All in all, Elizabeth found it amusing. She had to grab the napkin by her plate and cover up her smile lest the ridiculous Viscount saw it and accuse her of sabotage. He had already screamed at the Countess that 'were it not for your abnormally large décolletage, I would not have elbowed you in the first place'.

When she looked to the side, Elizabeth could see Alexander threatening to laugh until the Czarina tutted at him and he had to school his expression. Still, she could see the corner of his lips straining it quirk up.

When the desserts were served, the Viscount and the Count had finally stopped fighting, though they were now rather worse for wear since their expensive doublets were _ingeniously_ decorated with lamb meat and roast chicken.

However, things took a down tumble around half past nine. Dinner was over and everyone was lounging around the Throne Room, talking with one another, making allies and enemies, plotting with or against the Imperial Family.

Princess Elizabeth had taken a walk away from the crowd and wanted to go to the balcony where the Czar would usually address his people. On the way, as she walked past men and women, she heard two people talking to each other.

It was the Count and Countess of Vladivostok.

Slowly, as to not disturb them, she stepped closer and listened. She felt somewhat horrible for doing it but her curiousity got the better of her.

"—sure you're alright?" The Count was asking in his gruff voice, though the Princess was surprised to hear concern in it.

The Countess replied n her small, quiet voice. "Y-yes, I am."

Then, the Count half-growled, half-scoffed. "That man better be gone by the time I get to the Throne Room or there'll be hell to pay."

"Please, not anymore Demetri." The Countess pleaded, and when Elizabeth took a peek, she could see the woman holding her husband's arms tightly, rubbing them as if to placate him. "It was an accident. The Viscount did not mean to hit me."

Then, Demetri's green eyes softened and a tender expression fell over his face. "I just don't want you hurt."

"I know." The Countess replied and Elizabeth watched, happy and sad at the same time, as the two kissed each other.

It was so heartwarming and yet so painful to see a couple so happy and so in love. Looking at the Count and his Countess, the Princess could not help but remember her romance with Roy Mustang. The memories, so long ago, still brought a prickling to her eyes.

That night, the Princess chose to return to her room, alone as always.

* * *

**AN**: _It must be nice to be royalty, no? I feel so sorry for Riza. She has everything in the world now, but what mattered most to her was the price for it. Hu hu huh u. Anyway, __**R&R**__ and enjoy! __ Take care everyone!_


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: **_Hey everyone! Thanks for the wonderful review. Now, concerning the transition of Elizabeth Romanov to Elizaveta Romanov or Elisabeta Romanov: I really, really, truly, definitely, perfectly, delightedly and crazily want to use the Russian equivalent of Elizabeth__**, **__since my basis for her character has always been Empress Elizaveta I of Russia. However, I will refrain from changing since I want a universal name for our beloved Riza, and since her name has been changed twice, I don't want to do it on a third time (They say third's the charm, but I think it's a curse.)._

_On a lighter account, though, I'd be using the name "Elizaveta" only in conversations in Russian or amongst the Russian people. However, our main character shall always be named with her Anglican form, much like Queen Victoria, no? Only, Queen V did not want to find or use an English name as a regal name, but rather a German-origin name._

_Well, enough with the history facts, on with the story!_

* * *

Chapter 27: The Separatist Movement

News of the Princess Elizabeth spread through the nation like wildfire. Russians from faraway cities: Moscow; Vladivostok; Yekaterinburg, all flocked to the capital to witness the famed "Lady of Winter Palace". Saint Petersburgians talked about the ethereal fairness of the Princess: of her golden, sun-blessed hair; of her riveting dark eyes; of her pale complexion.

Though French by birth, and Italian by childhood, the Princess Elizabeth was every ounce of the Russian aristocrats. She spoke their language quite well, though she often had an Italian accent. Still, she was beloved by many of the people.

The Princess Elizabeth was often found haunting the Hermitage Theatre and the Peter and Paul Cathedral, with one of the Czarina's lady-in-waiting, the Captain of the Imperial Escort and a small retinue of Imperial Guards. More often than not, city-dwellers would stand and await the Princess' arrival and departure from the Cathedral, longing to see the daughter of the late Tsarevich and his French wife.

"Are they still there yet?" Elizabeth asked as she finished her prayers and sat back on the pew, looking at Delphine and Jean, who were seated on a pew behind her.

"Yes, my lady." Delphine answered, taking a quick glance outside. Elizabeth hummed an irritated huff.

"How many are there?" She asked Jean. She had apologized for her harsh words the day after the Introduction. Seeking him out hadn't been a difficult affair; he was with Delphine in the Palace Gardens. After an awkward silence and many repetitions of "The weather is nice, isn't it?" the two had reconciled and Jean was back as her friend.

"A few dozens, at most. They're all asking for a glimpse of the Elizabeth of Russia. They seemed to believe that you're the incarnation of the Empress Elizaveta Petrovna." Jean answered, smoothing out his dark blue uniform with his palms.

"Hmm. Elizaveta was a well-loved Empress. I'm just a Princess." Elizabeth sighed once more. "There's no point delaying the inevitable, unless we want to live in the Cathedral."

With that, Elizabeth stood, the two following her. The guards stepped aside to let her through the Cathedral entrance, and as soon as she was outside, the warm glare of the sun and the exclamations of the people, her people, greeted her.

"It's the Princess!"

"The Lady of Winter Palace has finished her prayers!"

"My lady! My lady Elizaveta!"

"God save you, Your Highness!"

It was a mix of the middle-class, the workers and the Court. A few stood near the steps, others sat on horses while some waved from inside carriages. Elizabeth's own carriage was surrounded by a small crowd, dominated by children who were mesmerized by the Coat of Arms of the Tsar and were delighted at the sight of the white horses.

For a while, the Princess just stood and looked at them: at the crowed who were waving to her; at the soldiers standing rigidly along the steps; at the children who were jumping to pet the horses; at her coach who were growling at the children to stop stressing the poor stallions.

She had a vision: She saw herself, sitting on an ivory throne, wearing the ermine fur of the Czars and sitting upon her head was the Great Imperial Crown, the Orb in one hand and the Sceptre in the other. Then, a distant voice would announce: "I anoint thee Elizaveta, Czarina of All Russias. God save the Empress!"

Then the vision had gone when she blinked. From the side, Delphine turned to look at her concernedly. Waving away her question with a shake of her head, Elizabeth smiled at the people and came down the steps, reaching out to greet the people.

Some delighted at her attention; others bent down to a knee and bowed their heads. A young woman, who had a babe in her arms, approached her and asked to have her baby blessed,

"Your Highness! Your blessing, please." The young mother pleaded. Elizabeth, moved by the devotion in the woman's expression, gently held the baby's head, caressing the sleeping child's face.

Then, Princess Elizabeth had to leave for the Winter Palace. Gently, and smiling her sweetest smile at the coach, Elizabeth asked if it was not a hassle to allow the children a ride until Palace Square.

"Your Highness, they are rowdy children. They'll damage the carriage and I'm sure Your Highness is wishing for a speedy ride to the Palace without detours to the Square." The coach pleaded, and he turned to the guards and to Jean, who shrugged apologetically at him. He knew it was pointless to deny a request from Elizabeth.

"But, Mr. Chenkov, it would mean the world to them to ride in a royal carriage. And I don't mind the children, if they're happy, then so am I." Elizabeth pleaded, folding her hands into a gesture of supplication.

There was a short moment of battle as Mr. Chenkov reasoned out the Princess until he, too, gave up and allowed the children aboard. Elizabeth sat herself in the center, with a dark-haired girl the age of seven summers and Delphine at her sides. The rest of the children fit in the bench opposite them, while one stood up to look outside the carriage as it prepared to move.

The Imperial Guards were not particularly enthusiastic about this arrangement; some of them even voiced out concerns that one of the children may be the child of a revolutionist and could attempt assassination. Children trained to kill were not rare nowadays.

Elizabeth was simply horrified at the thought and rigidly believed that she was safe. To soothe her and the Imperial Guards, Jean also rode with Elizabeth, allowing one of the older children, who was so enthusiastic about sitting in a royal carriage that he said yes to almost everything, to ride with the coach.

On their way to the Palace Square, Elizabeth talked with the children and especially liked the dark-haired girl that was sitting next to her. There was something in the girl that drew Elizabeth in. Perhaps it was her innocence, but it brought out a flame of protectiveness inside her.

As the children were talking among themselves, excitedly pointing out landmarks and shops and parks and whatnot, Elizabeth turned to the girl.

"Nina, are you enjoying the ride?" She asked, smiling at Nina, who had been quiet the entire time.

"Yes, Y-Your Highness. Thank you for letting me r-ride with you." At this, Nina fiddled with the hem of her purple dress. Elizabeth noted that the frill accents were quite reminiscent of Victorian fashion. The Princess also noticed that Nina spoke with an English accent. It was light and almost imperceptible but it was there. Curious, she asked,

"Where do you come from, Nina?"

The young girl was still looking down and fiddling at her dress as she spoke. "M-Moscow, Your Highness."

"And your parents? What work do they have?" The Princess asked gently, combing the hair of the girl.

At this, Nina lost her nervous stutter and smiled widely at the Princess. The transition surprised Elizabeth, at the least. It seemed Nina was quite enthusiastic about her parents.

"My mama makes pretty dresses for pretty people and we have a shop here. My papa works for Mr.—er—Mr. Frank! He draws on paper for Mr. Frank!" Nina spoke excitedly, her smile wide.

Her smile was so beautiful and so infectious that Elizabeth couldn't help herself from smiling, too. She tucked away the information as she continued to laugh and giggle as Nina recounted her many experiences in her mother's dressmaking shop.

Once they reached the Palace Square, the coach and the Imperial Guards were more than happy to be done with the children. Elizabeth scowled but said nothing as she hugged and waved each child as they all returned to their parents, who have been waiting at the Square for them since morning.

Only Nina remained by the sides, looking at her feet. Concerned, Elizabeth called her. The girl raised her head and looked at her before shuffling close.

"Nina, where are your parents? Aren't they here to pick you up?" The small girl shook her head as Elizabeth stood straight to look around.

"Why?" Elizabeth asked.

Nina mumbled out something but Elizabeth couldn't hear, so she came close and dipped her head.

"They didn't know I was riding with you." She mumbled out. Elizabeth's eyes widened. So Nina had been alone when she was at the Cathedral? How…sad. Then, smiling at the despondent girl, Elizabeth held out a hand to Nina. The young girl looked up at the hand, confused, before taking it.

"Well then, we'll just have to go to your home and take you straight to your parents. You must be very naughty to go wandering around." Elizabeth chided, though a smile was still plastered on her face.

Immediately, Nina shook her head. "No, no. I'm fine, Your Highness. My parents know I was out and I know my way around. I'll just walk."

"Nonsense, girl. Come on, we'll ride to your home. Come now, tell me where you live and we'll go straight away."

Nina, once more, shook her head. "Really, Your Highness. I can go home by myself."

"No, Nina, I will take you home. If not I, then Delphine or Jean or even Mr. Chenkov will." As she said this, Elizabeth turned and gave a pointed look to the three of them. Everyone muttered out a "yes" or "of course" at some point. Satisfied, Elizabeth turned back to the girl.

Nina was red in the face with embarrassment. Then, Elizabeth suddenly realized the problem. Nina knew she was a Princess and was therefore obliged to always relegate herself as a lesser priority. Elizabeth remembered the way people used to do for the Mustang Family. A man had to give up his jacket so that the Duke wouldn't step on a muddy puddle. The poor man had to wear the soaked coat on his way home.

Smiling at Nina, Elizabeth kneeled and looked into the girl's eyes. "Nina, it's alright. I don't mind. I really want to take you home. Will you let me take you home?"

Nina was silent before she looked up. For a moment, they just stared and stared until Nina nodded slowly. Elizabeth smiled.

The ride to Nina's home was quiet and short. They lived in a street twice down Palace Embankment, in a small residence that served also as her mother's dress shop at the front, with their house at the back.

Their house was a lovely, cozy home with a red roof and white-washed paint for the walls. As the carriage stopped and the coach opened the door, Nina bundled out and excitedly called for her mother.

"Mama! Mama!" The young child's calls were answered as a petite, dark-haired woman carrying a pair of scissors in one hand and a meterstick in the other came out.

"Nina? What's wrong? What's—Oh!" The woman, Nina's mother, stopped short as soon as she saw Elizabeth and her guards. Her eyes widened as she looked at them frantically, one face to the other.

"Y-Your Highness, welcome. I-I…"The woman was stuttering, apparently nervous in the presence of the Czar's granddaughter. Wanting to put her fears to rest, Elizabeth smiled at the woman and waved her words away.

"I just dropped by to help Nina home. That's all." She then turned to Nina, who was holding her mother's hand. Elizabeth kneeled down and raised a hand to comb through the child's brown tresses.

"Now, Nina, you be a good girl to your mother, alright?" Elizabeth asked, smiling still. Nina gave her a wide grin and nodded emphatically.

"Yes, Your Highness. And thank you for taking me home." Elizabeth smiled in return as she stood and made her way to the carriage. There was the sound of struggling and Elizabeth heard a short "Nina!" before she felt arms around her legs. Turning her head slightly, Elizabeth saw that it was Nina who was hugging her.

Smiling fondly at the girl, Elizabeth turned and hugged the girl. She then pulled back, pinched Nina's cheek and stepped up the carriage. She looked at Nina who was waving at her in goodbye. Nina's mother was still standing behind her, nervous.

As the carriage sped away, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the young girl's form as they turned smaller and smaller in the distance.

* * *

By the time Princess Elizabeth had returned, news of her good deed had circulated around the Winter Palace. Suddenly, the guards began to smile at her when she said hello to them on the way; some of the maids and ladies-in-waiting greeted her a good afternoon and some nobles even complimented her on her deed.

However, not everyone was amused by it. Some of the aristocrats, especially the upper echelon, turned their noses up at the sight of her. Usually, such action would merit a telling off from the Princess, but Elizabeth was still happy from seeing the children that she completely ignored their looks.

"My lady," Another lady-in-waiting of the Czarina approached her, Delphine and Jean standing back for her privacy.

"Yes, what is it?"

The lady bowed again. "His Majesty requests your presence in his study. He says it is of the most vital importance and that it is best if you make haste."

Bemused, Elizabeth nodded and proceeded to the Czar's study in his apartments. She could hear Delphine saying goodbye to Jean before following her shortly. Together, the two were silent as they continued walking.

When they arrived, the guards opened the door for them to enter. The Czar was sitting behind his desk, reading a book, his journals open on his desk. With the sound of the doors opening, he looked up and recognized the two of them.

"Ah, Elizabeth. Yes, do come in. You, girl, you may wait for your mistress outside." Alexander said as he motioned for Elizabeth to sit down. Half-turning, the Princess waved a hand in farewell to Delphine.

"Grandfather," The Czar looked shocked for a second for the way Elizabeth called him, and she bit back a smile before resuming her sentence. "What did you need me for?"

The Czar woke himself from his surprise and he smiled at the Princess before a serious expression took over his face. "Elizabeth, I know that you remember our conversation about Nixa and the Imperium, am I right?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed at the flicker of pain that passed in the man's eyes at the mention of his late son, her father. Poor dear. A father shouldn't bury his son. It's supposed to be the other way around.

"Yes, yes I do." Elizabeth decided to keep her tone gentle, seeing as the man was in still so much pain.

"That wasn't enough, now that I think about. I need to tell you more about the Imperium, especially now that they have infiltrated the Palace walls." Alexander spoke, his voice grave. Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"Infiltrated—the Palace—but, h-how?" She demanded as she felt panic well up inside her. The Imperium had never seemed so bigger, darker and closer than now. The only time they had come so near her was during their escape from the Church of Saint Jeanne D'Arc, when the soldier had held a sword at her back, intent to kill her. The Rose.

"This." Was all Alexander said before he grabbed a piece of paper from underneath one of his journals. It was a piece of parchment, folded slightly. Alexander slipped it towards her. Slowly, hesitantly, Elizabeth picked it up and glanced at the Czar. He nodded. "It was found in Nixa's private study, where no one, I mean, _no one_ is allowed in and only _I_ have the key."

Her hand shaking slightly, Elizabeth raised the parchment to read the writings on it.

_Aleksyander,_

_By the will of the Devil, you have allowed your people to suffer for your stench-filled cause. You and your infernal Court have caused dereliction and destruction to Russia. You and your slavish consort and your whore of a mistress have allowed evil to reign in your kingdom. You have brought your bastard granddaughter to court where she has cavorted with every lord imaginable. Ever since your reign, there is only chaos and madness._

_By the Will of God, we will end it. You have been warned. You and your Belial filth will not last long in this world._

_Imperias,  
God's Inquisition_

Once the last words had been read, Elizabeth's hand had stilled. No, they were no longer shaking. Yes, the panic inside her was gone.

There was only dread inside her. The Imperium had finally infiltrated the Winter Palace. If they were in, God knows what they could do. They could set a whole war from within Russia. They could plunge the whole country into civil war.

Warfare was a bitter conflict, filled with hate and anger and death. But there was no worse kind of war than civil war. Brother against brother, father against father, pitted against each other in a bloody battle that none really chose to fight. Civil wars tore nations apart, and if that happened to Russia, then they stood no chance against the Imperium and her forces.

Then there was another horrifying thought.

The Imperium could attempt assassination within the Czar's own home. The Winter Palace, the wondrous, golden and ancient home of all Czars and Czarinas was now a pit of possible snakes. Members of the Imperium could be anyone: from the maids to the stableboys to the ladies-in-waiting to the soldiers and even to the Duke of Moscow, who was staying in at the moment.

But, then again, this letter could be just it: a letter. It may be designed to inflict fear in enemies, but maybe that was it. Maybe this is what the letter was meant for: to cause panic within the Imperial Family.

Elizabeth, however, felt that this was more than that.

The Imperium was never one for subtle and empty threats. What they preached, they did. She could still recall the feeling of the sword's point prickling her spine, ready to thrust it into her.

She had never been more terrified in her entire life.

"N-no one saw the person who left this?" She asked, desperate to cling to any chance of hope. When Alexander shook his head, all energy seemed to drain from Elizabeth.

"Then we are really at war." She muttered out. At this, the Czar burst out laughing. Elizabeth couldn't even find it in herself as to wonder why he was laughing, and in an almost sobbing tone at that.

"My dear, the moment you were born, we were already at war." He said out, before he could think the words through.

All of it struck home. Elizabeth felt herself stiffen. So, if it weren't for her, none of this would have happened. If her father wasn't careless enough to impregnate her mother, then she would not have been born and the world would not have to be under such a great conflict.

She could feel the old, ugly head of guilt rearing its head at her.

"Elizabeth, dear Lord, Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, please forgive me." Alexander spoke out, horror and guilt in his voice as he stood and reached out to her. He grabbed her hands and shook them.

Elizabeth looked up into her grandfather's dark eyes. She wondered whether her father had the same eyes. She wondered whether her father would have blamed her for everything happening now.

She never knew her father, that much was obvious, but if he had put all blame at her for everything happening now, she had no idea as to how she could handle that.

The thought alone made her heart wrench.

"Elizabeth, I am so sorry. I did not mean, please believe me. I have never blamed you for everything, believe me. Granddaughter, please. Say something, please." Alexander's frantic words, coupled with his desperate voice and the fact that he, the Emperor of all Russias, was begging her, made Elizabeth stand and hug the man.

She buried her face into her tall grandfather's chest, her tears spilling out into his dark blue uniform. She could feel his arms coming around her and pulling her close to him. She loved her grandfather. She really did.

They had made mistakes in the past, unwillingly hurt each other by keeping secrets from one another. But those mistakes dimmed in comparison to what was happening now.

The Princess tried to stop her sobs, tried to quiet them. Truly, she did. She bunched her grandfather's doublet in her fists and pursed her lips as tears poured silently down her pale cheeks. She stifled every sob, every wail threatening to come out.

"Granddaughter, don't hold it in. Let it all out." Her grandfather's words, along with the guilt that she felt, broke through her barriers and, for the first time in two years, Elizabeth screamed out her first sob.

"There, there. Let it all out." Slowly, as she cried everything to his chest, Elizabeth could feel her grandfather's powerful arms pulling her up and sitting her down on the desk.

"I'm so sorry, grandfather. I'm s-so sorry-y. I didn't mean for t-this to happen, believe me." Her words were low and hoarse as she struggled to get it all out of her chest in between hacking sobs.

"Don't, Elizabeth. Don't, please. Don't you ever blame yourself for this." She shook her head. As much as she wanted to believe that, Elizabeth knew better. She was the Rose. She was the secret of a three–hundred year old dynasty. She was the target of the Imperium.

Elizabeth thought of all those people who had died to keep her alive, to keep her, the Secret Princess, safe from the Imperium's clutches. She thought of Sister Fiona and Sister Marianna, she thought of her father, she thought of her mother who had jumped in front of a bullet meant for _her_ and she cried all the more.

Were there sacrifices still to be made for her? Was she even worth it all?

It took a while for Elizabeth to regain her sense of dignity, and slowly her sobs turned into whimpers and into sniffles. All the while, her grandfather never let go of her, quietly and gently shaking her side to side, comforting her.

Then, she heard him humming. It was an old tune, something very familiar, very close to her heart. She knew that she had heard it, but she could not, for the life of her, remember where and when. All she knew was that it filled her with warmth.

As the Princess's breaths evened out and she fell into a light sleep in his arms, tears were silently dripping from the Czar's eyes. His granddaughter, his precious granddaughter thought that it was all her fault. He was now determined to prove him wrong.

Humming an old lullaby to her, the Czar pressed his lips to his granddaughter's head, breathing in the scent of hers. She was so angelic: with her blonde hair that was from Sophia and her tawny eyes that were Nixa's own. If Nixa were here, if he was alive, he'd be so proud of his daughter.

Soon, Alexander had to wake the Princess. Gently calling her name, Elizabeth's eyes opened and her tired tawny eyes looked up at him" helpless, vulnerable and so open. For a moment, his heart stopped beating as he stared into the eyes of his son.

No, his _granddaughter_.

"My dear, it's time for you to wake up." Elizabeth nodded and slowly unwounded her arms from around his. At the loss of contact, a part of Alexander was dismayed. It was almost like his son was hugging him. Carefully, he took his own arms away from her, watching with a sense of sadness as she came down the desk and smoothed out her dress.

She really was so beautiful, too beautiful to be a Princess.

"That song? What was it?" She asked, her voice still a bit rough from her crying. Alexander blinked and spoke. "What song?"

"The one that you hummed before I fell asleep." She said quietly, looking at the ground.

"It was an old lullaby. It was what I used to sing to Nixa when he was still a baby." Alexander explained, a lump forming in his throat. At this, Elizabeth slowly raised her eyes and looked at him.

It was disconcerting to see someone that looked so much of Sophia de Merovech and his son.

"And, as what he had told me, it was what he too sung to Sophia when she was about to sleep. And of what Sophia had told me, it was also what she sang to you when she held you in her arms for the first time."

Elizabeth just stared, her tawny eyes still sad, still despondent. Then, with a tired sigh, she said. "I'll be in my room."

Then, she turned and walked out.

Princess Elizabeth refused the aid of Delphine and waved away Jean's concerned gaze. All she wanted was to sleep away everything. Why did every bad thing had to happen to her? Hadn't she been hurt enough, punished enough?

Her walk to her apartments was probably the most trying time in her life, all alone and filled with thoughts of self-deprecation and with no one to distract her from them. As she looked at every face of every person that she saw, all she could think was this: are they going to be another sacrifice for her? Are they to be killed because of her, because of her birth?

Upon reaching her room, she quietly slid in and locked the door. Without bothering to take her shoes or her dress off, Elizabeth made way towards the large wardrobe. Slowly, she opened the doors, parted the dresses and climbed in, hiding herself at the very back, closing the doors on the way.

Fully submerged in darkness and not for the very first time in her life, Princess Elizabeth wished that she had never been born.

* * *

**AN: **_Wow! Usually, it would take a week for me to garner enough motivation to write another chapter. I wonder what made me do this? And it even fit my standards._

_My goodness, I feel so sad for Elizabeth. It's really hard to live with yourself knowing you're to blame for something bad happening. I know the feeling a lot. And just like her, I've sometimes wished that I never was born._

_On a lighter note, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You all made me happy. So, __**R&R **__ and take care and keep safe! See ya!_

_P.S. Isn't Nina so adorable?_

_P.S.S. And yes, that is __**the**__ Nina from FullMetal Alchemist._

_P.S.S.S. And by __**the**__Nina, I meant the adorable child that befriended Ed and Al and was turned into a Chimera by her sonofabitch of a dad._

_P.S.S.S.S. Yes, her father is Shou Tucker._

_P.S.S.S.S.S. Lots of P.S. aren't there? :)_

_P.S.S.S.S.S.S. Okay, I know it's getting annoying but I know I forgot something. I'm supposed to say something important right now. Oh well, we'll just post it up on next update. :)_


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Whoa, third update in a month? Am I high? LMFAO. But, seriously, now that my writing bunny is back in my head, I gotta take advantage of it. Who knows when it will leave? I might even be able to update a fourth time! *starts hyperventilating***

**Last note: Thanks for the reviews!  
Last-last note: I finally realized what I meant in the last chapter. For those who are curious or are having a hard time figuring out the family genealogy of Roy and Riza, there are links in my profile. Also, there's a map of Russia there that is about the future battles. Be warned, it is for the third book. So SPOILER ALERTS.**

* * *

Chapter 28: Les Fleurs du Mal

The popularity of the new Princess of Russia rose in the span of few weeks. People began to gather support for her and, for the most part, the Saint Petersburgians were especially clamoring for her being the next in line to the throne.

"My lady, the people are wishing for your ascent to the throne. Their voices grow stronger as every day passes by." Delphine had told Elizabeth, in an effort to cheer the Princess, who had withdrew into a shell since her talk with the Czar.

The Princess's response was just to stare in space, as if seeing things that neither Delphine nor Jean could see. A bit hurt at the cold silence, Delphine straightened and shot a worried look at Jean, who shrugged in turn.

He came closer and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it for support.

"Let's just give her a moment, love," Jean inclined his head to whisper softly into Delphine's ear, "Maybe she just wishes to be alone."

Delphine nodded and, along with Jean, turned away to give Elizabeth her space. Delphine dearly wished that the Princess, whom she had grown to like, would be as merry as the Russians outside the Palace were.

However, on the other side of the spectrum, the Imperium had begun mobilizing their armies. The English army had already crossed Denmark and was now reinforcing their numbers in a bastion at the borders of Germany.

The Italian armies, led by Prince Roy de Mustang, had left their country and were now passing through the Asian countries to get to Russia. The French, bitter from their defeat in Moscow during Napoleon's reign, had also begun to come up the large motherland.

Spain, fortunately on Russia's side, had managed to luckily detain most of the coming armies by blockading central points across Europe: Luxembourg, Ukraine and Estonia, while also blocking the sea ports of France itself.

It was a risky move that gave enough time for the Russians to appropriate enough defenses for their land.

The first battle was in Vaduz. The Austrians, with an army of five-thousand men and two-thousand Russians, broke the tense silence first as they attacked an Imperias bastion at first light. It was a difficult battle, what with the Imperias near-impenetrable in their star fort. But the combined forces of the Austrians and Russians, along with the excellent demolition of one of the fort's star points, delivered first blood to Imperial Russia.

The news increased the Russian morale, which had been steadily declining since the Czar's long absence.

On the other side of the European battlefield, the Italian commander Prince Mustang had began his army's march towards Saint Petersburg. The Italian had pressed passage through the southern countries of Europe. The large army, perhaps the largest by any rate, was slow in their upward trek to the wintry nation. It had taken weeks for the army to run down to Naples and almost a month for the ships to travel to Crete, where they were to gather for reinforcements before crossing through Turkey to penetrate Russia by the port city of Odessa.

It was here in Turkey where the Italians first engaged in battle. The Russian Empire, expecting enemies to use the Asian countries as cover for their upward trek to Saint Petersburg, had sent contingents of soldiers to stall the rising army.

An army of two thousand Imperialists, each half from both Russia and Spain, had met the Italians in a bloody battle.

Prince Mustang was not only a fierce and aggressive commander but also a cunning and resourceful one. He had sent an estimate of two-thousand five-hundred soldiers to engage the Imperialists in battle, but beforehand, he had his sentries check the rocky passages of the terrain.

The Imperialists may have drawn first blood in Vaduz, but the Imperias quickly evened the scales with Prince Mustang's coordination. Using the rocky passages as cover, Mustang had let the Imperialists charge at the bulk of the soldiers he sent. Once they had swept past the passages did the hidden battalions emerge and quickly encircled the Imperialists.

It wasn't a battle, truth be told. Roy had never liked war. He preferred peace and reformation, but he had been given this duty, so he had to press through with it. So, when his army had surrounded the Imperialists, it was no battle.

It's a damn slaughter, Roy thought grimly as the Imperias forces butchered the Imperialists down. Viscera flew past as guns were shot, bursting skulls apart. Screams of pain were heard as lances, swords and bayonets were unleashed, striking down the Imperialists, who had been arrogant in their assault atop horses.

An Imperialist general, who had bellowed at his dying men to retaliate, was pulled off his white steed. Down on the ground, dizzy with shock, he met a gruesome fate as bayonets were thrust into his abdomen before the triggers were pulled.

The sun up in the sky glared forcefully down on the battle, bathing death in a blinding gaze. When the clouds had finally covered it, hiding its light, the battleground had been bathed in blood.

Imperialist blood.

And with that victory, the Italians pressed forward, inch by inch, a slow, unbeatable monster.

* * *

In Saint Petersburg, the tense atmosphere had not gone down since news arrived of the Imperialists' first defeat in Turkey. The guards had been doubled in the palace, more soldiers patrolled across Saint Petersburg and the gates were kept under constant, vigilant watch.

Inside the Winter Palace, however the atmosphere outside, things were still the same. The Princess Elizabeth had been taken under the wing of the Czar himself, finding herself the sole student to his teachings. Aside him, several professors were hired to educate the Princess.

Court gossip continued to fester and grow as several lords and ladies began pursuits of interests for the Princess Elizabeth. In between her classes, a few Counts and Marquesses would sometimes approach her, begging her to indulge them in conversation.

Elizabeth knew their game: gain her trust and confidence, leech off favors from her and then use her as their power piece in their court battle for power within the empire. She knew them and, thus, knew how to counter such efforts.

Beforehand, Elizabeth had already acquired knowledge of the court subjects. Alexander had told her that it was better for her to know who to and not to befriend amongst the subjects.

She knew who hated who, which detested which.

So, when court lords and ladies begged her audience, she chose who to befriend and who to pit against their rivals in a simple guise of wordplay.

One such occasion was when the Count of Moscow asked for her time once. Elizabeth knew that the man completely hated the Earl of Tver who, in turn, also detested the Count for _stealing_ his betrothed from him.

When the Count had asked for her time, Elizabeth carefully told him that the Earl had asked for hers and wished for her to visit him first. Beforehand, she had also told the Earl that the Count had asked for her _first_.

What happened next was completely out of Elizabeth's hands. Whether they fought or not was of no concern to Elizabeth. All she knew was that, with the two gone, she could move past and continue her learning.

"She's changing," Jean said at breakfast once. Delphine paused from her needlework and gazed at him curiously, silently encouraging him to elaborate. Jean pulled the lapels of his coat across his chest as a cold wind passed before speaking.

"Elizabeth. She's changing. She's turning into something…_cold_."

Delphine frowned, confused. "Cold? I don't mean to insult, Jean, but when she arrived here, she was already a bit, I don't know, detached."

It was Jean's turn to frown. "Detached? How so?"

Delphine placed her needlework on the table as she crossed her leg, her dress hiking up a bit. Jean's eyes flashed down to her exposed leg, shamelessly gazing at the stocking-covered appendage.

"Ahem," Delphine cleared her throat, causing the blond man to look up from her leg and into her eyes, smiling quite shamelessly. She returned his smile for a while before a frown marred her features.

"Well, when His Majesty had brought Princess Elizabeth here, she was somewhat reserved. She didn't speak much and she just stared at everything, most of the time."

Jean nodded, his frown lessening. "I see. I've never really realized it. Maybe it happened when we were, well, not talking, I guess."

"Oh, when you had that argument? If so, then that is possibly understandable. I don't know. It's hard trying to figure out Princess Elizabeth. She says words that confuse others, while keeping her true thoughts to herself."

A wry smile lit Jean's face, the blond man understanding what Delphine meant. "Yes, that is true. When I first met her, she was the opposite of who she is now. She was a merry lady. My men called her "Golden Sparrow" because she was always singing aboard the ship during our travels. Now, she's changed."

"Yes, she has." Delphine stared at Jean, gazing at his glossy azure eyes and spoke aloud. "You love her, don't you?"

Jean's eyes snapped to hers so fast that Delphine half-thought that perhaps she had been imagining him to have been looking away when she said those words. "What?"

"I said: you love her, don't you?"

Jean stared at her, his blue eyes boring into hers like daggers, before he spoke. "Know this, Delphine: I _love_ you. Elizabeth holds a place in my heart, but you _hold_ my heart."

Delphine smiled. "And you hold mine. What I meant was that you love Elizabeth, not that you were in love with her. Friend or not, you can't help but love the Princess."

At this, Jean laughed before picking up his cup of whiskey. "Yes, that is true. Everyone loves the Golden Hawk."

* * *

Within Russia's walls, insurrection had begun to spread like wildfire. Protesters were beginning to gather in numbers, demanding the collapse of the monarchy. There were even reports of a few guerilla attacks on outlying towns and even cities.

Inside the Winter Palace's walls, however, something far more insidious has begun its own invasion of the Crown.

Walking down an empty hallway was High Chancellor Frank Archer, the so-called Grand-Vizier of the Emperor.

"My lord." Chevalier Ross, a henchman of the Maitresse, stepped into the light and bowed to the Chancellor. Archer nodded, in turn, before walking past him, knowing that the man would follow him.

"His Majesty is beginning to irritate me, Chevalier. I do hope that your Mistress has a plan for this. We did not expect the Emperor to come this far…_alive_." Archer spoke, his pale blue eyes glinting like the eyes of a deadly serpent.

Ross bowed his head once more as he followed the tall man. "Pardon, my lord, for the mistakes of a few of our men. Believe me, they have been dealt with. Severely, if I must say."

"Well then, if that is so, then I expect _her_ to have a plan by now."

"Yes, the Maitress has a plan ready, my lord. She plans to assassinate the Emperor himself."

Archer stopped, blue eyes widening in surprise. "Really? Assassinate, you say? And how does the Maitress plan to do that, I pray? The Emperor is guarded heavily, even when he is in his toilet."

"Ah, but my Mistress has found a weak spot, my lord." Ross spoke quietly, eyes vigilant for any spies.

"What weak spot?" Archer asked.

"Why, the Princess Elizabeth herself, my lord." Ross answered, grinning.

"Yes, I see." Archer said, slowly, as he raised a hand to scratch his chin. Things were falling into place now.

"His Majesty believes himself invulnerable. We know he is not as immortal as he thinks he is."

Ross nodded before turning down a hall opposite Archer. He bowed once more before speaking.

"Yes, my lord. My Mistress will see Alexander to his death. The Czar shall regret ever contacting the Princess Elizabeth."

* * *

**AN: It's not as long as I would like, but hey, it's still good…I think. Lmao. Anyhow, hope you all like it. Read and enjoy. :D**


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Honestly? I thought my muse kicked the bucket for this story. Thank God my Literature teacher brought it back. (Recommended ambiance: Martyr by Future World Music; Lost in Paradise and/or End of the Dream by Evanescence)**

* * *

**Epilogue**

It was the 13th of March 1881. Elizabeth Romanov, along with her family, spent the Christmas season within the guarded walls of Saint Petersburg, as traveling abroad would have been too precarious for them.

A ceasefire was observed between the two nations, in respect with the holidays. It was a time for the warring nations to loosen their guards and lick their wounds. However, fighting resumed on the 30th of December, with the Spanish pushing off the French and the Austrians trying their hardest to push back the Italians.

The English had stationed in Queen Lyra's bastion of Denmark, awaiting orders from Prince Mustang.

When Elizabeth had awoken, she felt a foreboding feeling in the pits of her stomach. She swept past her daily morning duties with that feeling never leaving her mind.

It wasn't until midmorning that the feeling intensified. That fateful day the Czar was to ride to the Mikhailovsky Manège for the military roll call. He had been known to do that for many years, thus this day was no exception.

The Czar made talk about it during breakfast, where Elizabeth, still bemused about the dread inside her, was staring off into space.

"I shall visit the army this afternoon. Pardon me, but our lessons will have to be rescheduled, Elizabeth." The Czar spoke as a servant poured fermented fruit juice into his cup.

Elizabeth saw the Czar's lips move with speech but her mind did not transcribe his words into understanding. All she could think was that eerie ringing in her ears and that weight in her stomach that screamed misfortune.

"Elizabeth, are you listening? Elizabeth?" His words went unnoticed by the Lady of Winter Palace. The Czarina, who looked up from her diary, raised her eyes to the Princess, also nonplussed by her unnatural condition.

It wasn't until Alexander had laid a hand on her forearm did the Princess blink out of her stupor, eyes wide and staring hastily around the room as if she had awoken from a deep sleep.

"Y-yes, grandfather?" Elizabeth asked. The Czar and his wife exchanged looks before turning back to her.

"You seemed as if you were deep in thought." The Czarina answered.

"Oh." Was all Elizabeth could say. What? Was she supposed to tell them about this disconcerting feeling she was having? Her grandfather would direct her to the infirmary and her grandmother would tell her that she was, perhaps, on a bad stomach.

Elizabeth knew, though she had no proof, that this sense of dread was more than upset bowels. She had a past with these feelings; moments where when she had listened to her instincts had saved lives, hers for example.

"N-no, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something." Elizabeth waved their concern away. The two did not look convinced but nodded anyhow.

"Well, as I was saying, our lessons would have to be rescheduled." The Czar repeated as he took a bite of his food. Elizabeth looked to him.

"What? Why?" Elizabeth asked, the panic inside her welling up.

"I have to do the military roll call, Elizabeth. Surely you know that." The Czar explained.

That feeling of dread jumped inside her. "Oh, that. I forgot about that."

"You have been forgetting a lot of things lately, dear." The Czarina spoke as she wrote a passage in her diary.

"Perhaps you should stay home, grandfather?" Elizabeth questioned, not yet touching her food.

"Do not be silly, dear. I have done this for years and the army expects me to come. Without me, who would do that duty?" Alexander, who was busy with his papers, did not see the flash of panic in his granddaughter's eyes.

"I know that, but maybe you could take a recess for this day? Surely the army would understand." Elizabeth pleaded.

"Elizabeth, why should I not go to the Mikhailovsky Manège? What reason do I have to not be there? I shall depart at noon." With a hard tone, Elizabeth knew that Alexander had made up his mind. There was nothing Elizabeth could say that could change his mind.

The morning passed like a breeze. Everything in the palace was normal, under the circumstances. The maids swept the floors and cleaned the rooms; the guards stood on patrol by their posts; runners went to and fro, delivering everything from letters to war telegrams in and out of the palace; court subjects littered the halls and a meeting was held in the throne room.

It was like any day. Yet, why does the sense of dread inside Elizabeth intensify as every second passes? Why does it feel as if something bad, something dark was unfolding itself?

Delphine and Jean were their usual selves. They did not share this cold feeling in Elizabeth's gut. It was like that night when she was in her room at the Church of Saint Jeanne'd Arc, where she had seen the twitch of a tree branch and knew inside it was the Italians.

When the meeting had finished and the Czar was readying himself for the roll call, Elizabeth had made up her mind.

She knew that the man was too protective of his family and of his country. If she asked to accompany him to his roll call, he would refuse her immediately. So, Elizabeth would have to use deceit.

Beforehand, Elizabeth had told Delphine that she would retire to her rooms and sleep. She expected no disturbance until four in the afternoon, when the military roll call had finished. Delphine, blinking at the request, nodded her head.

Inside her room, Elizabeth locked the doors and closed all the windows. Once done, she took of her dress and clothed herself in a man's garments, which she had stolen from Jean's quarters. Dressing herself in black trousers, a loose shirt and boots, Elizabeth was surprised to look so different. It had been a long time since she had last worn anything unfeminine in appearance.

Tying up her long blonde hair in a tight bun, she covered it with a dark cap. With a wet towel, she removed any trace of rouge and paint. Standing up, she looked at herself in the mirror and nodded in approval. She could pass off for a boy, albeit an androgynous boy nonetheless.

Hiding all her stuff under her bed, Elizabeth made her way towards the doors. Opening it a crack, Elizabeth noted that Delphine wasn't in sight. Quietly, she exited her rooms and went into the hallway designed for the servants. Pulling her cap down to cover her face, Elizabeth ducked her head as she walked slowly, trying to still her pounding heart.

Two maids passed her, and she sucked in her breath. The two were talking and one turned to look at her. The woman then turned her eyes back to her companion and the two passed by her without any interruption whatsoever. Elizabeth released her breath.

Three more incidents similar to that happened as she went down the stables. A guard almost recognized her before a call from one of his fellow guards distracted him. Her hands sweating, Elizabeth ran towards the stable and, thanking God it was empty of people, drew a horse from one of its stalls and rode towards the Palace Square, where the Czar's carriage was to pass.

She awaited, her cap covering her face, for the carriage with the Imperial coat-of-arms. It wasn't till half an hour when she saw it pass by. She followed it, making sure that none of the guards recognized her. Ten to twelve meters away, the carriage progressed with the incognito Princess haunting it, that familiar cold feeling nigh impossible to ignore.

There were six Cossacks surrounding the carriage, with the seventh on the left of the coachman. Behind the carriage were two sleighs, one carrying the Chief of Police and the other carrying the Captain of the Imperial Escort: Jean Havoc.

Elizabeth, knowing that Jean would recognize her anywhere, grabbed the cloak inside her knapsack and threw it around her shoulders. As much as it disguised her, all it took was for Jean to turn around and look at her for a few seconds before the deceit was up. Elizabeth prayed that he didn't look back. That was all she could do from then on.

Saint Petersburgians waved their kerchiefs and hats and everything they deemed respectable as the carriage passed them. No one recognized the famed Princess behind it, for it was not unusual for people to follow the carriage on horseback. Some even rode beside hers, cheering for the Czar.

As the Pevchesky Bridge came into view, the ringing in Elizabeth's ears began to intensify. There were people lining the bridge, all excited to see the Czar. Elizabeth, however, felt no excitement, only apprehension.

There was something dark and sepulchral about the bridge that Elizabeth could not put her finger on it. As the distance between bridge and carriage shortened, the feeling of panic inside Elizabeth intensified.

The noise in her ears rang louder and louder and louder in her ears until all Elizabeth wanted to do was scream. When they reached the bridge, the noise silenced out and all she could her was the quiet panting of her breath and the pounding of her heart.

It was gone. The feeling was gone.

She looked around, noting that they were passing the middle of the bridge now. Perhaps it was all just in her head.

Elizabeth breathed normally for the first time that morning.

Then, hell erupted.

The people began to scream, the guards' horses rose on their hind legs and cried in alarm and the Cossacks shouted profanities. Elizabeth, wildly looking around, searched for the cause of chaos.

Then, her eyes wide and terrified, her mind and heart quieted as the Imperial carriage, containing the Czar, burst into flames in a horrible explosion.

* * *

**AN: So, that's it, dear readers. That is the end of "The Royal Phantasm". : Evil, isn't it? Superbly demonic. Lol.**

**Anyhow, do not fret. The third and last installment of the series, "Welt Ende", is to come.**

**I would like to thank everyone for taking the time to read and review and favorite this story. All your effort, I thank you with the deepest of my love. I am not positive that the third book would be released soon. I would like to take a break from writing to focus on my college education. Your understanding is dearly welcomed.**

**In the case that Welt Ende do come, it will be prudent for you guys to subscribe to my work so that you may be informed accordingly.**

**Much love,**

**~Deathcrest**


	30. Welt Ende

**AN: Just a little teaser for y'all. This is not the first chapter, mind you. It's somewhere…well, I shall leave you to guess the answer. For the meantime, enjoy this. I still have no idea when I will resume writing. Probably when my muse returns from vacation. =D**

* * *

Time froze. The chaos around shifted into stillness as everything around her went silent. She stared, shocked and immobile, at the man that stood before her. His hair had grown a bit longer, his face a bit angular than she last remembered, but it did not diminish any of his sheer handsomeness. The same dark eyes she knew stared at her—Elizabeth, who was clothed in naught but in full battle regalia, wielding a sword by her side.

It was Roy.

All around, the battle raged on. But to the two leaders, there was nothing but the two of them, tethered by an invisible connection. It was mind-boggling, for two seconds before, both lord and lady were poised to deliver death. The Italian had his sword ready to thrust, to injure and puncture the heart of the Russian, while the lady was set to slash through his neck.

Then, as if some sort of understanding had happened, Roy Mustang, Prince of Milan and commander of the Italian forces, bellowed a warcry and motioned his sword to send death and demise to the fair Elizabeth.

* * *

**AN: Don't look at me like that. I did what I thought was best. It's a shit of a cliffhanger, but I like it. so suck it up and wait for the real deal. :D**


	31. I can't even

this is still alive...?! 


	32. A Letter from the Author

Dear readers,

Hello! How are you today? I hope you are well. It would worry me if you were anything but okay. It's been a while since I've last talked to any of you, hasn't it? For that, I am sorry. I take full responsibility for my actions. I'm sure a lot of you are angry and disappointed at the lack of continuity of the story by now. I had promised a long time ago to be one of those writers who would never let a story die. I promised to be one of those writers who would finish what they started. I am very sorry for disappointing all of you, and most of all, I am very sorry for disappointing myself.

I know you would want an explanation and I have one but I fear it is not enough, nor will it be ever enough. A lot has happened to me in the last 2 years since I've been gone. I've started Uni and we all know how much time it consumes. However, that doesn't excuse my behavior. I know of a lot of writers who juggle school, work and family and yet still manage to finish the stories they set out to write. I know there was no one else to blame but me.

Also, last December 2011, my family fell victim to Typhoon Sendong (International name: Washi). As most of you may or may not know, I am a Filipino, living in the Mindanao island of the Philippines, where the typhoon struck greatest. We were lucky to survive with the clothes on our backs and our family intact. Everything was gone, everything. Ever since, we've been struggling to rebuild our home. Worry not though, I am now alright. I have managed to procure a laptop, and though all my old fanfic files were lost during the flood, I am struggling to recreate them.

I know that is not an excuse good enough for my absence, especially when it has been months since the flood and we are now able to live as if it had never happened. For that, I ask your forgiveness.

If you will allow me, I would like to once again appeal to you and finish this story. I cannot promise when, especially now that junior year in University is approaching. However, I do promise to _finish_ this. You all deserve that much, and only if you still want me to. I understand if you no longer wish to be bothered with this story. I truly understand.

Sincerely,

Kenneth

P.S. If any of you wish to contact me, you may through my google mail: kennethdeatras (insert gmail suffix since isn't allowing links) ; my Twitter account at username: dinobaozikenny or you may visit my mastersite at /pandahyung

I am looking forward to talking to you all once again. I've missed you.


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